Growing Pains
by PhantomProducer
Summary: "Steve didn't want to move. He may not have had a lot of friends at school, and he was the smallest boy in class, but he loved Brooklyn...so why did he and his mother have to pack up and move across the country?" Over the years, Steve will find the good in leaving home, and moving on. A modern, real-world AU story (no superpowers, etc.) featuring skinny!Steve. Slow updates.
1. Chapter 1

The car rumbled along, the moving van behind it as it ever had been for the last couple of days. And as ever, from his perch in the back seat, Steve Rogers was staring out the window, his jaw set mulishly as his mother navigated the vehicle down the unfamiliar roads. They had left home, left Brooklyn, New York, and it did not seem like they would be back again anytime soon.

Steve didn't want to move. He may not have had a lot of friends at school, and he was the smallest boy in class, but he loved Brooklyn. He loved all the busy people walking to and fro before the apartment he shared with his mother, and he loved the sounds of the traffic at night. The park was not too far away, and while he wasn't very strong, he could play ball there, whenever he felt well enough. It was home, the best place in the world. So why did he and his mother have to pack up and move across the country?

Minnesota seemed like it was half a world away, far beyond the borders of New York and impossibly set nowhere near an ocean. It had the Mississippi River, according to Mom, but it wasn't the same. It would never be the same.

Sarah Rogers, with tired, blue eyes, glanced up in the rearview mirror, giving her little boy an equally tired smile. It had been rough, moving both of them across the country with the beat-up Pontiac left by her husband, but it was the best thing for them. No matter how rambunctious her eight-year-old could be, despite his ailments.

For the moment, he was sitting quietly fidgeting as she revealed how close they were to their new home now. However, it would not last long. As they drove over yet another bridge (so many bridges, he'd mused, and none of them like the great, big Brooklyn Bridge), he sighed audibly.

"Mom, do we have to stay here?" he groaned, big blue eyes finally turning from the passing office buildings as they gradually morphed into houses and such. His mom shook her head, gold curls matching his in shade shifting as she let out a slow breath.

"Stevie, this is where my job is now," she reminded him, not for the first time even that day. It was true, though; a good opportunity for a nursing position had opened up at the Children's Hospital, one that could benefit her own son as well as herself. And, with Joseph gone and unable to help provide...there was no other option. "We do have to stay."

"But what was wrong with Brooklyn?" he crowed, shifting harder in his seat, mottled red starting to flood his cheeks. Blinking away the sting of his sudden tears (he would cry, he couldn't; he was a big boy now, and crying would only make things worse), he mumbled, "Why couldn't we stay home?"

Sarah was silent for a long moment, blinking against tears as well.

"...You know why, sweetheart," she breathed, meeting his eye again briefly before focusing on the road. He did know, a little. He knew it had to do with Dad's death. Joseph Rogers had been serving overseas, lost in the effort of freeing a faraway country—Kuwait, his mother and teachers had called it—but he hadn't understood too much about it. Just that his dad had left them, deployed and ready for battle, and then he came back seven months later in a coffin. His mom had been so sad, and often looked like the life had been drained out of her. Staying in the apartment meant being reminded of Dad every day, with pictures of him on the wall and his medals displayed with the flag that had been given to them at his funeral. It still came as a shock that, once school was done for the year, they would be packing up and leaving. He sniffed, glancing down at his shoes as Sarah cleared her throat. "But don't you worry. We'll be just fine here. You'll be fine." Steve looked up at that, a look of skepticism on his face not suited to an eight-year-old. However, his mother wagged a finger back at him, a tiny grin tugging at her lips as she warmed to her theme. "You'll have Bucky and his brother looking out for you at school when it starts in the fall, and you'll probably make even more friends."

That was true, if only in part. Bucky, Steve's best friend, had moved with his family to Minnesota the year before. In fact, it was his mom who had helped Sarah find the position at the hospital, the two women good friends as well. She'd wanted to help in whatever way she could, and she found a way to at least give her the chance to recover, away from Brooklyn and all the memories.

Still, Steve couldn't quite believe her speech about making many more friends. Not many kids liked him at school as it was. He was quiet, actually liked to read, and was too small for any of the other boys to take seriously. That meant that he was picked on, pushed around a lot whenever the teachers weren't looking, the mocking voices of the other children only hushed when an adult happened by.

If moving was good for anything, it was to get away from those bullies. But that did leave the question of what kind of bullies he would be facing in the new town, in the new state. He said none of that aloud, though.

"Maybe," he muttered instead, not wanting Mom to feel worse than she already did. Moving wasn't easy for her, either, he knew, and he inwardly decided to try and be better about it. Only for her sake. Seemingly satisfied with his answer, her focus returned entirely to driving, following the map she had taped to the dashboard. The young boy looked out the window again, sighing under his breath as the vehicle exited off the freeway, cutting this way and that as they found their way to the new neighborhood. Instead of the brownstones and various-shaped buildings being jammed in up against one another, the houses in the suburb were spaced out, green grass stretched out before and behind them. He blinked then, perked up a bit. It would be nice to live somewhere with a yard, he conceded, somewhere to play that didn't mean walking six blocks to get there. That was something, at least.

His mom maneuvered the car into a cul-de-sac, six houses ringing the circled black top. She drove the the one with white siding, dark trim and shingles framing it. A front porch with a well-padded and well-loved loveseat framed the dark blue door, the brass numbers of the domicile shining in the early June sunlight. The basement windows were lined with the same trim, barely seen above their rain barriers. That was where they would be living; according to Mom, Mr. Barnes had outfitted the basement into an apartment for them over the last few months, building on what was left by the previous owners of the house. Either way, it would be their new home.

As she parked the car along the road, just a few feet from the mailbox, Sarah looked back at her boy once more, an encouraging smile given to Steve before she unbuckled. He tried to return it, but it hurt a little to do so.

As soon as he had unbuckled and climbed out the back, his mom meeting him along his side of the car, the front door swung open. Two adults, both with nearly black hair and looking slightly careworn, moved to greet them. Mr. Barnes trailed a little behind his wife, meeting Steve's eye and nodding a hello as Mrs. Barnes swept Sarah up in a hug.

"Freddie, George," his mother breathed, relief in her tone as she squeezed her old friend back. Mrs. Barnes (Freddie, he repeated silently, muting his giggles at the boyish-sounding name being applied to her), smiled broadly, holding her at arm's length after a few moments.

"Sarah, you made it," she said, stepping to the side and pulling Steve into a hug as well. The small boy didn't mind it too much; Mrs. Barnes had always been that way, and in truth, he did miss her hugs when the family had moved. When she ruffled his hair, though, he let out a grumpy huff. Her smile did not waver at that, greeting him as well. "Hi, Stevie. Bucky and the other kids are in the backyard, if you want to go play for a bit."

Steve shot a glance back at the car, at the moving van now parking as well, and then he looked up at his mother. Sarah inclined her head, flicking her gaze towards the house itself. It would be alright, for a few minutes, to take a break and have a little bit of fun, if he could.

"'Kay," he murmured, barely able to take two steps before his mother took his hand and crouched before him. He braced himself, knowing she would be patting his pockets for his allergy shot, and his inhaler (each one relegated to a different pocket of his shorts). Blue eyes almost rolled; he wasn't a baby, and he knew better to have his medical stuff with him. One stern glance from his mother told him to stop with the protest before ever saying a word. Satisfied that he was prepared, she patted his cheek affectionately, bidding him to go. Mr. Barnes flapped a hand at him, telling him to follow, and so he traipsed after the older man, the low chatter from behind the house growing as they went through the gate of the fence into the yard. Sniffing against the smell of the flowers lining the walkway (hay fever, his mother had warned him, was well under way for him already), he felt the sticky heat enfold him as he walked, stopping short when he saw all the other children there. In the far corner was a sandbox, two small girls playing in it. One had black hair, the other dark brown, the pair of them piling up sand for a castle and shaking it out of their brightly-patterned rompers. Over to the other side, three boys were tossing a football back and forth, one of the foam ones he'd seen in the store and on television. They were joined by another girl, roughly a year or so older than him. However, his focus was drawn onto the boy brushing his chin length hair behind his ears, the cut of it making it flop everywhere. Pale blue eyes glanced over, and his smile grew wide as he stopped.

"Bucky!" Steve called out, waving frantically at his friend, the familiar face so welcome in that moment.

"Stevie!" the other boy crowed, dropping the ball and running to him. At nine, Bucky seemed to have gotten so much taller, the dark strands of his hair flopping into his eyes as he jogged across the lawn. He nearly barreled into Steve, nearly crushing him in a hug as strong as his mother's. A great sense of relief and pure happiness flooded the blond boy, his earlier churlishness forgotten for an instant. It so good to see his best friend, he didn't even mind the use of the baby-ish nickname. "Haven't seen you in forever!"

"I know," Steve replied, thumping his back and pulling away. Mr. Barnes stepped back, admonishing the boys to have fun and be careful while he went to help move things inside. Absentminded nods were dipped at him before Bucky clapped Steve on the shoulder.

"It's so cool you and your mom are gonna live with us," he said, grinning and revealing the gap on the bottom row of his teeth. Brushing a bit of dirt off his t-shirt, he proclaimed, "We can do sleepovers and not hafta cross the street or somethin' like in Brooklyn."

At the mention of their old town, of the old neighborhood, Steve felt a bit of the joy leave him. Sure, it was a pain to have to cross the street to play with Bucky there, but...it was still home.

"Uh-huh," he mumbled, hands tucking into his pockets as he sighed. Sensing his sadness, Bucky raked his fingers through his hair again, unsure of what to do to make it better. Lighting upon the answer, he flapped a hand back towards the others with the ball.

"Oh, you should come play," he said, his bright gaze darting over his friend in quick examination. "You got your inhaler?"

Steve let out a huff. Bucky could be just as bad as his mom about that stuff. "Yeah. And the epipen."

Reassured that his asthma nor his allergies would be a problem, he tugged on the shoulder of Steve's shirt, saying that he had to come meet everyone then.

"Who's the short stack?" asked the tallest boy, lanky brown hair pushed out of hazel eyes. He had to be around eleven or twelve, Steve thought as he looked up at him. Bucky hooked a thumb at the blond boy, smiling affably.

"This is Stevie. He and his mom are moving in downstairs. They're from Brooklyn, too," he introduced, and Steve lifted his hand in a timid greeting.

"Hi."

Bucky pointed now at the older boy, saying, "That's Hank, and his sister Heather is over there with Andy. They live in the blue house on the other side of the cul-de...cul-de-sac."

Steve glanced over then, to the older girl. Her long ponytail was held by a bright yellow scrunchie, a hello given before she wrenched the ball out of Bucky's older brother's hands. His friend snickered at that, but he tugged on his sleeve again and walked him over to the sandbox, to the two youngest. They paused in their play, the pair of them staring at the newcomer with wide eyes.

"This is Hank and Heather's sister, Holly. She's friends with Becca."

Becca grinned at Steve, her small hand raising and waving at him, green eyes dancing with light. Holly, however, merely stared at him. She had a smudge of dirt on her cheek just below her left eye, her hair frizzing out of a ponytail similar to her sister's. Dark irises scanned over him as she plopped back down in the sand, grabbing up the abandoned shaper and starting the castle project again.

Watching her work, Steve snorted out a chuckle. "Babies in the sandbox."

Becca's gaze darkened at the insult, and Holly's head came up at that.

"We're not babies!" she insisted, pushing the plastic shaper to the side and stumbling to her feet. Holding up four fingers, she told him, "I'm four and half!"

Bucky frowned at his friend, but Steve merely shrugged.

"You're little, though."

The younger girl's eyes narrowed at him, and she raised her chin, hands planting on her hips. "So are you."

The sting of her words made him flinch, and Steve's own gaze sharpened. What a little brat, he thought to himself, and as he opened his mouth to say more, he felt a tug on his sleeve.

"C'mon, Stevie, let's play catch," Bucky said, tugging again to draw him away. Casting one more glance over the little girl, he rolled his eyes when she stuck her tongue out at him and turned around. Girls were so silly, he mused as he strove to keep up with his friend's stride, meeting the other boys on the far end of the yard. Heather joined them as well, determined to be part of the game as much as they. Bucky and Steve were on one team, Andy and Hank on the other, with the young girl acting as the monkey in the middle. Many minutes were passed in this fashion, with the little girls cheering for their siblings from the sandbox. They would toss the ball back and forth, and if the person in the middle caught it, they would take the place of whoever had thrown it last. The heat of the sun made sweat bead down Steve's face and back, but he refused to stop playing, finally enjoying himself for the first time in days.

It was his turn to be in the middle, with Andy having captured his poor throw that time. Back and forth the ball was tossed, the older boys using their own strength and skill to keep it just beyond his reach, forcing him to jump and run harder than before. It was then that Steve felt the unpleasant familiarity of tightness in his chest, his breath starting to fail him as his face became beet red with exertion. Stopping his running, he braced his palms along his knees, bending at the waist and struggling to breathe. Suddenly, the game came to a screeching halt, all the children laughing and playing staring for a couple seconds.

"What's wrong with him?" he heard one of them—it was Hank, confusion in his tone—wonder, and he tried to speak, wanting to explain. However, Bucky was there first, catching him by the elbow and practically forcing him to sit down.

"He's got asthma," the brunet boy explained, worry lacing the hard edge in his voice. "We gotta go get his mom and tell her."

Steve fished in his pocket as his bottom connected with the earth, the ever-present inhaler taken out. Giving it a shake, he clamped his lips around it, depressing the top and inhaling deeply. The medication flooded into him, his haggard breaths beginning to catch and fill his lungs again. Water dripped out of his eyes as he tipped his head down, shame and embarrassment flooding through him. Now, the other kids definitely wouldn't want to play with him anymore, and he certainly wouldn't have any new friends.

Nobody really got how badly his asthma affected him, and it was something that made them all think he was too sick and weak to do anything. Nobody but Bucky, and even he had gotten impatient with it a few times in the past. Blinking past the wave of water coursing out of his eyes, he saw Andy take Heather's arm, drawing her away and bringing her to follow Bucky and Hank as they ran to the house, yelling for Mrs. Rogers to come out.

"Maybe we shouldn't play this anymore," he heard the older girl say, and he could feel his gut constrict with the sorrow and the shame. The first thing to go right since the move, and it went wrong, anyway. Angrily, he flung his inhaler to the ground, pulling his knees up and slinging his arms tightly around them. He hated it. He hated being here. He wanted to go home, where everything made sense, at least.

"You okay?" a high-pitched voice asked, and he looked up. The little girl that had sassed back at him, Holly, stood there, his now-dirty inhaler in her hands. Her face filled with worry, too. He blushed hard again, his focus latching onto his scuffed sneakers.

"In a minute," he grumbled, scrubbing a hand over his face and refusing to look at her. Light footsteps tamped down the grass, and he heard a little oomph shoot out of her as she sat down. Her arm rest against his, and he finally glanced over at her once more.

"Okay. I'll sit with you," she said, chin raised decisively. Sniffing hard, and coughing slightly, Steve shook his head.

"You don't hafta. You can go back to Becca."

She turned her head toward the sandbox, which was now empty; Becca had, it turned out, gone in with her older brothers, leaving them all alone in the yard.

"Nah," Holly told him, crossing her legs and resting her filled hands in her lap. Her dark eyes ran over the inhaler for a few moments, examining it curiously, before she silently handed it back to him. Taking it, Steve felt his shoulders hunch slightly. He felt bad, now, for calling her names. He just...he felt bad, and he didn't like it.

"Sorry I called you a baby," he said, fingers closing over his inhaler. He watched as she shrugged, shaking her head.

"'Sokay," she returned, looking up at him then. Taking in the sight of him, with his blond mop of hair framing his sad, blue eyes, she shrugged again. "Sorry I called you little, too."

Steve shook his head, wincing as he could now hear the distressed shouts coming from inside the house. "It's alright. I kinda am."

Holly looked at him again, her pursed lips suddenly creasing into a true smile. "I like that. You're not too big. It's hard to be with big kids sometimes."

She nodded to the house, where her own brother and sister had gone with the Barnes children, and Steve took in the sight of her again.

"I get it," he replied softly, grinning at her for the first time that day. As she returned it, her fingers gripping and pulling at the grass around them, the back door of the house cracked open. Mrs. Rogers came out in a fast run, dropping to her knees beside her son to check him out. When she assessed that he was well again, she chided him for working himself up like he had, hearing from the boys how he'd pushed himself too hard in the game. As he hung his head in contrition, he felt a warm, sticky palm wrap around his wrist and squeeze. Out the corner of his eye, he saw Holly stiffen beside him, staying put even as his mom told him he had to be more careful, had to watch out for himself better and not be so reckless with his health. When she'd finished, she'd hugged him, much as she always had, before helping him onto his feet. Brushing the dirt and grass from the seat of his shorts, Sarah blinked at the little girl still there with her boy, attempting to keep her voice even as she said hello. Holly nodded at her, but as she opened her mouth to introduce herself, two more heads peeped out the back door. Hank and Heather were yelling for her to get moving, since their mom and dad had called for them to go back to the house. The palm on wrist squeezed one more time, and then dropped.

"I'm glad you're okay," she said to him, the only farewell she could give before her brother and sister called for her to come home with them. His bright gaze followed her to the house, the three children from across the way gone within a minute.

It still wasn't Brooklyn, he thought to himself as he followed his mother inside, ready to help unpack with her and the rest of the Barnes brood. But, as Bucky helped him bring a box of his action figures down to the room that would be his and began to set them up, maybe it would be okay. Someday.

* * *

 **A/N:** I know what you're all thinking. "You're starting a new AU, even though the other one isn't done yet? You should work on that one!" Believe me, I know I should, but...this idea is yet another one that won't leave me alone. A childhood friends fic, that also stars skinny!Steve, because he deserves love, too. Like with DTH, it will be updated slowly, as I am still sort of recovering from the Of Time series and am trying to get better about adjusting.

So Steve and his mom move to Minnesota over a year after his father's death and burial, and they meet some old and new friends. Should be interesting, as time goes on...essentially, I made Joseph Rogers pass away during the Gulf War, as one of the casualties. Hope this doesn't offend anyone terribly.

I also have a Twitter account specifically for story updates, which I will be doing for this story as well. My handle is **PhanProTweets**.  
Lastly, this work is UNBETA'ED. This is mostly due to my personal schedule being a little different from others'. As such, I do proofread, edit, and restructure my own writing. I try my best, but I am not perfect.

I own nothing from the MCU, nor do I own any other pop culture references made in the text (Marvel comics, Pontiac, etc.).

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!


	2. Chapter 2

The fall air was crisp and light that day, the coolness of the breeze hinting through Steve Rogers' thin jacket. The scrape of sidewalk gave way to the thud of grass and dirt, his feet wandering from the concrete path. His mind was adrift, memories washing over him as he clutched one strap of his backpack.

The summer had given way, fall tumbling into winter, and before he knew it, a year had gone by since he and his mother had left Brooklyn. For better or for worse, Minnesota was home now, and he had to adjust to the truth of the matter. The small apartment space in the basement of the Barnes home had been transformed, the barren and bland walls soon housing their pictures, Dad's army photo and flag set up on a stand all its own. His small bedroom had a couple of windows, peeking out onto the front yard and the cul-de-sac beyond. It wasn't terribly large, but it was bigger than what he had in Brooklyn, and it was his to do with as he wished. Slowly but surely, he became accustomed to his mother working at the new hospital, to attending his new school, to the new life they were making for themselves.

His mind wandered again, to another summer, the corner of his mouth curving as he thought about it.

" _Sure you don't want to practice with us?" Bucky asked him one morning, the August sun beating down on them as they traipsed around to the Martins' backyard. The older boy, a little taller and his dark hair a little lankier, had a mitt on one hand and a baseball in the other, tossing it into the glove as they walked. Giving him a light smirk, he stated, "I got the spare inhaler waiting."_

 _He patted one of the pockets of his shorts, and Steve snorted ruefully. After the first incident, his friend, along with the neighbor kids, had gone out of their way to ensure that he would never be without an inhaler. They didn't want him to suffer, and shockingly, it helped pave the way for new friendships to form._

" _Thanks, Buck, but that's okay. I'll just watch for a bit," he told him, sinking down onto the porch steps and pasting a smile on his face. Bucky, seeing right through it, let out a slow breath and shook his head before stepping back. Steve wouldn't budge from his stance, though; he'd needed his medication that morning after a pretty bad attack, and he'd also had to down some more pills for his B-12 deficiency. It was a pain, but it was necessary. Instead, he would rather regain his strength and not push himself that morning. Watching as Bucky and his brother joined in with Hank and a couple of his friends from school, Steve shuffled down to the bottom step, picking up a stick and beginning to poke in the dirt. Concentrating on the swirl and pull of the stick in hand, he began to roughly sketch out the shapes of the boys at play, a baseball popping high as they waited for it to come down._

" _Whatcha doin'?" asked a higher-pitched voice behind him. Startled, Steve jumped in his seat, whipping around to look up at the speaker. It was little Holly Martin, also slightly taller, though her hair had been cut shorter. Her ponytail barely dipped below her shoulders then, though her bangs had been fluffed up. Brushing her hands along the backs of her stirrup pants, she sat down beside him, her gaze fixed upon the stick still in his hand._

" _Oh, just…just drawing stuff," he mumbled, dropping his utensil and wiping his palm along the side of his shorts. "It's nothing big."_

 _Holly got up, kneeling in the dirt beside his scratched drawing and let out an impressed whistle (which, given that she was attempting imitate a cartoon while doing so, failed spectacularly)._

" _Woah, you're good," she breathed, the pad of one finger hesitantly brushing just below the scratches. Steve blinked at that. Certainly, he'd been allowed to paint and use his mother's pens to "draw" ever since he was younger, but he hadn't thought much about it._

" _You think?" he asked her, cocking his head to the left and curious as to her answer. Immediately she nodded enthusiastically._

" _Yeah! I could never do this, Stevie!"_

 _Rolling his eyes at the babyish nickname, he crossed his arms over his chest._

" _Have you ever tried?" he wondered, through not unkindly. Taking his words as a challenge, though, Holly seized the stick, moving over to a bare patch of dirt (the back porch was new, and the grass was taking time to grow back) and attempting the same perspective he had. After a few short minutes, she let out an annoyed huff and dropped the stick. Getting up, Steve stepped up to her patch and bent at the waist to examine it. Stick figures, along with a sphere-like object that could've been a baseball, met his gaze, and he shook his head. "Okay, you were right."_

" _Shut up," she grumbled, folding her arms again. As she bit her lip and furrowed her brow—the faintest line cutting across it and pulling his attention—he could not help but wonder what she was considering so fiercely. Before he could ask, though, she darted away, calling over her shoulder, "Hold on."_

 _The practice of the boys in the yard was quite forgotten by that point as Steve went back onto the porch, leaning against the railing and craning his neck to see through the glass sliding door. The swish and shift of it met his ears once more when she returned, holding out something to him._

" _What's this?"_

 _She came forward, thrusting it into his grasp. The ruffle of pages cut through the air as he turned it over, the cardboard cover heavy in his hands. Holly tucked a wispy strand of hair behind her ear, and she shrugged at him._

" _One of Daddy's drafting journals. It's empty, so you can use it. You can draw in it and stuff."_

 _A whole journal to draw in, all for himself, his mind whispered at him. He had thought about asking his mom for something like that, but he didn't know how to. It wasn't the same as asking for a new action figure, or a board game. Things like this, they meant more, and at his age, he couldn't fathom how to express that._

" _Thank you."_

Over the next year or two, Steve had slowly filled the pages of the journal, his drawings taking shape and veritably coming to life as he went. He practiced shading, slanting the pencil, fascination blooming within him as he worked. It was one of the great peaces of his life, whenever he drew, and he was grateful to have found out how much he truly savored it. And, with every piece he finished, he would show it to the girl across the street, delighting in the impressed cast to Holly's eyes whenever she looked over the drawing of the monkeys at the zoo (done from memory, and he was quite proud of it), or of the trees lining the pathway to school. He was so good, she always said, and getting better.

He was glad for it, and for the encouragement.

He was shaken out of his reverie then, the course of time returning him to the present. He was no longer then eight-year-old sulking about moving, nor was he the ten-year-old discovering something he could be better at than some other boys. He was twelve, and while he had grown in those four years, he still was nowhere near as tall as Bucky, or even Hank. As well as that, he was still a bit on the scrawny side, something that was painfully obvious when he stood among his peers. However, despite that, the march of time continued forward, and there he was, embarking on yet another school year. And, like in the previous years, he was treading the path back home. The Barnes house, and the Martins', were roughly ten blocks away from the elementary and intermediate schools. The whole gang of them—Heather, Hank, and Holly from their side, Steve, Bucky, Becca, and Andy from theirs—would meet up, walking together. The eldest boys, Hank and Andy, made sure the rest fell in line, getting everyone to school their charge. It gave them all a chance to mill and mix with one another, each letting off steam or hyping themselves up upon the path. That day, Bucky had jogged ahead to catch up with Andy, Becca on his heels, to talk about what would be planned for their mother's birthday that weekend. Hank and Heather were poking and teasing each other, their little sister sighing and falling back. Not wishing to have her be alone or fall behind, Steve picked up his own pace, walking with her for a few moments in silence. That is, until she started to gush about the movie her parents had let them watch a few days' prior. She couldn't get enough it, and kept sharing with anybody who would listen.

Steve shook his head, letting out a low laugh. "You're such a dork."

Holly lifted a finger, sticking out her tongue and poking him in the shoulder. " _Star Wars_ is awesome, you just don't get it."

Steve attempted to bat her hand away, with it coming up and poking him in the side. Catching his ticklish spot, she crowed in victory, leaning in to get him again.

"Okay, stop!" he croaked, the laughter having caused him to tear up slightly. Swiping at his eyes, he steadied his gaze upon her. In the past four years, she had grown some, though a little knock-kneed and the next baby tooth was already missing. Lifting a shoulder, he confessed, "People have the power to move stuff with their minds, fly space ships, and fight with laser swords. It just makes you a dork to like it so much."

She scoffed at that, and gave him a final poke. "Then you're a dork, too."

He couldn't help but nod after a couple of seconds, conceding the point. "Yeah, I guess I am."

The two shared a chuckle at that, but the moment was spoiled when a pine cone arched over Steve's head and landed in the dirt a few feet in front. Before he could say anything, or even shrug in resignation, another was launched, that time hitting him squarely in the back of the head. Exclaiming loudly and clutching at the injury, he swiftly swiveled around to face the attacker. Groaning inwardly, he narrowed his eyes at the bigger, burlier boy just a few feet away.

"Hey, it's _widdle_ Stevie Rogers," the boy crooned, heavy-lidded eyes blinking in the afternoon sun. Steve's frown deepened. Gil Hodge had, unfortunately, proven Steve right about his assumption that there would be new bullies to deal with when he moved to the state. From his first day in Ms. Potts' third grade class, he had been a target for Gil, the bigger boy believing the scrawny new kid would be easy fodder for him and his crew. When Steve ignored him, or better still, cut him verbally (in his defense, he really did look like a gorilla, even if it only earned him a sore shoulder), he could only bluster through it with threats and hits. It was doubly unfortunate that their paths to school crossed halfway to the building.

Four years had done little to change him from the cruel, burly child he was. At twelve, he was bigger than Steve, and his mean streak had widened considerably. The motley bunch of boys with him—all from their class and all of them hanging back during the exchange—snickered and watched as their leader dared to edge closer to the smaller blond boy, and the younger girl staring in shock. Another pine cone came at him, but he ducked it that time.

"Like hanging out with girls, Stevie?" Gil sneered, his glare shifting to Holly then. Instinctively, Steve side-stepped to shield her, despite his slim stature. The other boy rolled his eyes, dirty finger coming through his messy, light brown locks. "What a wuss."

"Go away, Gil," Steve said, his voice far too cold for a boy his age. He felt the burn in his face, the flush of blood rushing through him as he dared to breathe deeply. Keen blue eyes scanned around them; Bucky and Hank were already gone, around the corner with the rest of their siblings. He was on his own, not just to fight back against this tormentor yet again, but to watch out for Holly, too. The smaller brunette beside him stepped closer, but her own gaze had narrowed on the bigger boy threatening her friend.

"Why, what are you gonna do about it, ya shrimp?" Gil called back, several steps bringing him closer and throwing into sharp relief the difference in height and weight between him and Steve. Holly's dark eyes flashed, and her fingers curled around Steve's forearm, the rough press meant to reassure as much as still her own trembling.

"Leave us alone," she shot back, raising her chin as both her friend and the bully looked at her. Steve's gaze was filled with a form of desperation then, his jaw ticking as Gil's eyes darted between them. Slowly, an evil smirk dawned on his lips, and he started to laugh outright.

"Oh, I get it. You need her to fight for you," he said, hands on his hips as he made his pronouncement. Another hot flush flooded through Steve then, that time tinged with embarrassment. The taller boy clicked his tongue, eyeing up Holly again. "Makes sense; she's bigger than you, anyway."

The younger girl had had enough. Though Steve was still edged in front of her, she glared at Gil once again, growling, "Shut up."

The bigger boy's eyebrows inclined as her higher-pitched command reached his ears, and he loped ever-closer then. Once he was within arm's reach, he swiftly snatched at Holly's free arm, yanking her away from Steve. Her frightened yelp had Steve seeing red, and the other boys of Gil's gang faltered in their jeers and laughter. They'd never seen their leader menace a little girl no more than eight before; it was stunning to see him drag her forward, pull her up on her tip-toes to look at him directly.

"Make me," he jeered in her face, shaking hard before pushing her down. As Holly fell to the ground, Steve felt something inside him snap. His feet moved of their own volition, making him move much faster than he ever had before. Leaping at the bully, he balled up his fist and caught the bigger boy right in the jaw. The result crack had Gil reeling and tumbling onto his knees, the blond boy heaving in deep breaths as he reared back for another blow.

"Don't touch her!" Steve screamed, letting his fist fly just Bucky's dad had taught him. The next punch landed in the meat of Gil's shoulder, so it was less jarring, but the bigger boy was shaken from his own shock. It was the first time Steve Rogers had ever hit him back physically. He couldn't allow the little punk to keep getting shots on him, not with all his friends watching (despite the fact that several of them were beginning to slink away, recognizing the depth of anger welling up in the smaller boy and not wanting to be part of it).

"Crazy little...!" he cried, fists flying and connecting with Steve's face and torso. The two were dragged into a mock wrestling match, punches thrown occasionally as they rolled in the dirt of the path. Holly yelled at them to stop, to quit fighting, and then finally for help. A black eye was given for a black eye, and Gil had repaid Steve for his bruised jaw with a split lip. It seemed as though the two were entirely deadlocked, and nothing would be able to stop them.

"Hey! Knock it off. I said stop!" an older, deeper voice cut in, two strong hands reaching and grabbing the boys by their collars. Yanking them apart, the boys both looked up at the man who had separated them. A single, dark eye stared down at them, a deep frown cutting into the fellow's face and the light of the afternoon sun gleaming off his bald head.

Mr. Fury, an older fellow whose house was the junction for the sidewalks connecting to the school path, could often be seen on his front porch in the mornings, waving hello to the children as they went by. Neighborhood legend spoke of him being a secret agent of some sort (it was how he lost his left eye), but he was nice enough, at least from a distance. He was hardly around in the afternoons, and had not intervened with any of them before. Steve felt genuine gratefulness bleed through him, though he blinked through his own puffy eye and wiggled in his grasp. Gil had done the same, his wiggling hard enough to break the older man's hold on him. Glaring hatefully at Steve for a split second, the boy took off, disappearing around the bend before any of them could say a word.

Sighing, Mr. Fury loosened his grip on Steve, allowing him the chance to sit down on the ground.

"Hey kid, are you alright?" he asked, the calmness in his tone remaining as Steve struggled to catch his breath. When he was in the middle of fighting back, he hadn't noticed the labored nature of it all, the constriction in his chest ignored. But now, he could feel it pulling, his good eye blinking as he struggled to get it under control. Bruised fingers dug at his pockets, a flash of fear lancing through him when he couldn't find his inhaler.

"Need..." he wheezed, digging fruitlessly yet again. Fast steps careened toward him then, and he glanced up at the young girl still with him.

"Here," Holly said, her hand shaking a little as she held out his dropped inhaler. It was dirtied from the fight, but it had not been crushed or destroyed, thankfully. In her other hand was his backpack, the books in it straining on her arm a bit as she kept it close. The already-darkening bruises stood out on her skin, and Steve felt a shameful flush rush through him. Mr. Fury waited until Steve had brought the inhaler to his lips, the medication deployed as he murmured about going inside and getting them both some ice and rags to clean up with. As he darted up the walkway to his home—in reality, they had been fighting in his front yard by that point—Mr. Fury missed the dulled look Steve had given Holly as she stepped closer, her warm brown eyes finally devoid of the tears that had threatened to fall earlier.

"You didn't have to say anything," he said then, unable to understand why she'd stood her ground beside him. She wasn't Bucky, or Hank. She was four years younger, and while she wasn't much smaller than him, she was little in that light. She could've gotten hurt worse, Gil would've done more if Steve hadn't flown at him. Didn't she get that?

She shrugged a shoulder, shaking her head.

"I know. But he was being mean, and—"

"You should've just left," he told her, the misplaced anger and frustration at her remaining despite the danger winning out in that moment. Pressing a hand to his bleeding lip, he muttered, "I don't need a girl fighting for me."

The smaller brunette jerked back, as though he had actually slapped her with the words. The tears resurfaced then, and she sniffed hard to keep them from flowing.

"...Oh. Fine, then," she grunted, deliberately dropping his backpack at his feet and turning away. The creak of a screen door opened behind them, Mr. Fury calling out to her to come back, but Holly only started to run then, the swing and bob of her ponytail the last glimpse that could be seen of her as she disappeared around the copse of trees down the block. Steve felt the sick, gnawing feeling in his stomach rise as she ran, but he could not bring himself to say anything. A deep sigh resounded as heavy footsteps heralded Mr. Fury's return to his side.

Crouching down beside him, the older man handed him a bag filled with ice and wrapped in gauze. Placing it to his eye himself, Steve also took the wet paper towel wad and pressed it to his split lip, hissing when both touched the injured parts of his face. Silence enveloped them for a few seconds, the whir of the insects in afternoon accompanied by the flitting chirp of a bird in the distance.

"You're Steve, right? Sarah Rogers' boy?" Mr. Fury asked then, raising an eyebrow at the blond boy. Steve blinked at him with his good eye, uncertain how the older man knew his mother. Spying his lack of surety, Mr. Fury discreetly tapped below the eye-patch, and understanding dawned then. Though his mother did work in the children's hospital, she had supplemented her shifts working in another hospital nearby. It was likely she helped the one-eyed man with his treatment or something. At that, the twelve-year-old nodded, and Mr. Fury hummed under his breath. Glancing down the path, following the invisible tracks left by the others, he let a slow breath out of his nose. "Steve, that wasn't the right thing to say. This wasn't the right thing to do."

Steve swallowed hard, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He knew it was wrong to fight, but he wasn't hitting people just to hit them. That was something Gil did, and he would never be like him. What he'd said to Holly, though, that was hurtful. Trouble was, he couldn't take it back, and now that she was gone, he couldn't apologize, either. Not that he was in the mood for that, anyway. She needed to know that she didn't have to stick her neck out like she had. Like he had.

None of that was said aloud, however.

Instead, Steve mumbled around the wet paper towel, "Please don't tell my mom, Mr. Fury."

Mr. Fury snorted audibly at that.

"Should've thought of that before you got the shiner, kiddo," he retorted, the groan Steve didn't bother to stifle making him chuckle a bit louder. Shaking his head, he stood, and motioned for the young boy to do the same. "C'mon, I'll walk you home."

Grabbing his backpack and looping a strap over his shoulder, Steve alternated between tending to his eye and his lip, the eye becoming the sole concern by the time Mr. Fury was leading the way into the cul-de-sac. Following the boy's instruction to take him the house, he was greeted at the front door by both Freddie and his mother, the women exclaiming in shock and indignation on his behalf when they saw how injured he was. Calmly, Mr. Fury described what he had seen happening, the pair of women sharing a fast look when he indicated Holly's presence as well. Inviting him in, Freddie made short working of tracking down the number for the Hodge residence while Sarah went into the apartment downstairs and called over to the Martins.

The next few hours were a blur, between Steve's mom tending to his wound more thoroughly and Mrs. Hodge responding in total awe of her boy vindictive behavior. Promises to straighten him out were issued in lieu of more drastic measures being taken, and as he did his math homework that evening (squinting through his good eye to do so), Steve felt a little bit of peace return to him. The churning in his stomach, though, came back to the fore whenever he glanced out the Barnes' living room window, staring directly at the Martin house and the glow of the lights that evening. Despite having been informed of what happened, none of them had come over, and so Steve had no chance to see Holly again.

He wouldn't have a chance for several more days, as she studiously avoided him whenever she and her siblings joined him and the Barnes brood on the walk to and from school. Each time he looked to her, he could see the betrayal and hurt in her eyes, her fingers rubbing absently at the bruises mottling the skin of her arm before she turned away from him. The guilt inside chewed at him as he could not force himself to go up to her, to explain how he hadn't meant to snap at her, but he still couldn't do it.

It was something that had the potential to go on indefinitely, were it not for the intervention of Hank.

On that following Saturday, when his black eye had begun to fade and his lip had healed, Steve went out with Bucky, the older boy eyeing him as they walked to the center of the cul-de-sac. Hank and one of his friends were there (a redheaded boy whose name Steve could not remember, but could recall walking with them a few times), lightly kicking a soccer ball back and forth between them. Before Bucky could even voice a hello, or Steve open his mouth, the eldest Martin sibling glared darkly at the blond boy. Pivoting swiftly, he abandoned the game altogether, striding forward and deliberately shoving his hands against Steve's shoulders. The younger boy was shocked by the older's action, so much so that he didn't attempt to protect himself the two times following in which he was shoved again.

"Hey, don't shove him!" Bucky cried, stepping between them and throwing up his own hands. Hank's hazel eyes darkened a fraction, and he snorted out loud.

"Why not? If he wants to fight on his own, let him, Buck."

Still slightly bewildered, Steve wondered, "What did I do?"

Attempting to reach around Bucky to shove him again, Hank growled, "You made my sister cry, you jerk."

The guilt and the shame in the younger boy, which had gone dormant for the time being, flared to new life at the mention. Bucky's bright gaze slid back and forth between his two friends, and even he was surprised to hear such a thing.

Shuffling his feet, the blond boy tucked his hands into his pockets and stared at his shoes. "I didn't mean to make her cry."

Hank balled his fists at his sides, biting his lip briefly. All in all, he did like Steve, but he hated how his sister had come home earlier that week, tears on her cheeks and a sullen confession that this single boy was at the center of it. Coupled with the bruises, he had of course demanded Holly tell him what happened.

"The only reason I just shoved you is because you at least didn't let her get hurt worse," he mumbled, his gaze pointedly running over the smaller boy at the same time. Not only did his honor demand that he stay at shoving for his sister's sake, but for Steve's, too. Though he was healing, he still looked pretty bad. With two of their own targeted by a bully, it was impossible for the children not to know what had happened. Bucky looked between the two other boys once more, dropping his arms and scratching his head.

"...You have to go say you're sorry to her," he told Steve, arriving at the conclusion at the same time as the blond boy. He nodded to the split-level house in light blue on the opposite side of the cul-de-sac, hooking a thumb at it to further punctuate the point. Steve felt his hands curl in his pockets, his stomach dropping a little at the thought. Plaintively, he looked to Hank.

"Can't you do it? You're her brother, she'll listen to you," he murmured, knowing well by then about Holly's stubborn streak. It didn't surface too often, but she could be rather strong-willed when she chose, and he had no doubt that she would be that way if he tried to approach her.

"Nope," the older boy pronounced, shaking his head and crossing his arms. "You did this. You have to apologize for it."

Steve dared to glance at Bucky, but his oldest friend was as adamant as the other boy was. Groaning, he strode forward then, crossing the rest of the cul-de-sac and trotting up the driveway. Circling up the concrete steps to the front stoop, he took in a few calming breaths as his nerves pinched inside him. Lightly he knocked, forcing himself not to look back at the three boys watching him prepare to apologize. The handle of the door turned, and soon enough the panel was pulled back. The small boy found himself staring up into the face of Paul Martin, his chin covered in a smattering of stubble and his dark hair falling over his brow. He was a quiet, kind man, hard labor solidifying him into the man he was.

"Hello, Steven," he greeted the blond boy on his doorstep, an easy smile coming to his lips.

"H-hi, Mr. Martin," Steve stuttered, swallowing to steady his nerves. Wiping his sweaty palms on the sides of his jeans, he asked the older man, "Um, is Holly home?"

Mr. Martin blinked at that, his eyebrows rising the tiniest fraction. "Yes, she is."

"Can, can I talk to her, please?" Steve asked after a moment or two, forcing himself to look up at the older man. Sincerity laced his tone, and he mumbled, "I wanna say I'm sorry."

Paul Martin stared down at the twelve-year-old for a few seconds. While he certainly didn't agree with the child having verbally shunted his girl to one side, he did know a thing or two about what had really motivated him to say such things. It wasn't right, but at least the kid had the sense to try and make amends.

"Alright, I'll go get her," he told him, letting out a soft sigh before stepping back in the house. It seemed like an eternity had passed before the door opened again, but when it did, and revealed Holly in the frame, Steve couldn't help but feel a form of relief.

"Hey," he started, trying to sound light and happy. When all he got in response was a sullen blink, he cleared his throat. Clammy palms curled in his pockets as he dared to ask Holly, "How are you?"

The younger girl's jaw jutted mulishly, her arms crossing over her chest as she stared at her own feet. She really wasn't making it easy for him, and he honestly didn't blame her for it. Why should she, when he'd pushed her away so blatantly?

Sighing, Steve's shoulders drooped as he looked her in the eye. "Look, I...I'm sorry. For what I said. I didn't mean it."

Holly's gaze narrowed slightly, her hands going on her hips in an imitation of her older sister when she was standing her ground. "Really? Because it sounded like you did."

Steve's own shoulders squared, and he lifted his chin. While she did have a right to be upset, he also had wanted her to hear and understand the truth of his apology. It was best to lay it out for her.

"Really. I was just really hurt, too. And...embarrassed," he confessed, registering the look of confusion on her face and shrugging. "I get picked on a lot at school, so it's not something you have to be part of. You shouldn't have to be."

Holly, digesting his words, could only cant her head and wonder, "But you're my friend. What was I supposed to do?"

Despite himself, a crooked smile formed on Steve's lips. "I'm your friend?"

The little brunette girl nodded, the irritation and hurt clearing for a few moments. "Yeah. At least, if you don't mind having a girl be your friend."

"...I don't mind," he said, meaning it entirely. He had long considered Holly one of his friends, despite her age. Reminded of that stark difference between them, and feeling the old churning anger bubble in his gut as he recalled Gil daring to snatch at her, he nearly whispered, "I was scared, too. Scared that he'd do something really bad to you. I really am sorry."

Holly's dark eyes met his gaze, holding them both there for a long moment. Soon enough, she let out a soft breath, blinking hard again.

"Me, too." Before he could stop her, she stepped forward, her small arms wrapping around his torso. Carefully, Steve hugged her back, the forgiveness enfolding him as well and the guilt practically being squeezed out of him when she pressed. Against his shoulder, he heard her mutter, "Thanks. For not letting him do something really bad."

He closed his eyes then, another drop twisting his stomach. "You're welcome."

Several more seconds passed, and then she stepped back, sniffing and swiping at her face.

"How are you feeling?" she asked him, staring at the rim of purple surrounding his eye and the cut of his lip dissipating. Steve raked a hand through his mop of blond hair, glimpsing the healing bruises on her arm, stark against her pale skin.

"I'm okay. Happens a lot."

Holly's confusion returned, sadness creeping into it. "Why?"

"It's easy for them, I guess." Steve really didn't have a good answer for her. He couldn't say why boys like Gil went after him, but he knew that there was at least on common denominator every time he attempted to examine the situation. "I'm not the biggest guy in my grade, if you couldn't tell."

The little brunette girl looked at him, the sorrow in her gaze growing. "That's not right. I don't want you to get hit anymore, either."

It was all he could do not to blush and shuffle his feet, and in the end, he was only partially successful.

"I'll, I'll try not to," he said, his voice hushed. It was the most he could do, promising to try. If Gil Hodge ever tried to hurt one of his friends again, though, he would not be able to keep it.

Next time, he would really let the bully have it.

She dipped her chin at that, her fingers now curling around the hem of her t-shirt and her feet shifting her around.

"Okay." The silence between them was broken by the chirps of a couple of birds in the distance, and the low rumble of a motor down the street. Tugging on the end of her ponytail, Holly glanced around him to the boys playing in the street. So...you gonna play with them now?"

Steve pivoted, catching Hank and Bucky obviously kicking the ball back and forth, both of them pretending they weren't spying on them. Huffing out a breath, the blond boy thought of something else, and he smiled at her.

"I was, but...I finished another drawing a couple days ago. You wanna see it?" Off her eager nod, his smile grew wider, and he held up a palm. "Wait here, I'll go get it."

It was worth it, to see the grin on her lips as he jogged away, impatient to show her what he'd sketched. It was nice to have his friend back, he mused upon his return, sitting down beside her on the stoop and proffering the drawing to her.

* * *

 **A/N:** So...twenty-some days have passed since the last chapter...oops. I did say this would have slow updates, right? I'll definitely try to get better about posting sooner in the future. Suffice it to say, a lot has happened over the last few weeks. My great-grandfather passed away, at 106 years old—truly, not making that up. On top of that, my uncle was taking into the hospital recently for surgery. He appears to be doing okay, but we're still waiting on the doctors to tell us the full story. And...I have been interviewing like crazy for a bunch of jobs. Hopefully I will get one of them. Keep your fingers crossed for me!

In this second chapter, we jump ahead a little in the time-line, with Steve being twelve and Holly being eight. And stuff goes down...and tough little punk that he is, Steve doesn't take it lightly. Neither does Holly. Slowly but surely, it's all coming along...

Again, I will try to be more prompt with the next chapter for this, as well as for DTH, which should have its newest chapter coming out some time over the next couple of days. Keep your eyes peeled for that!

I own nothing from the MCU, nor do I own any other pop culture references made in the text (Marvel comics, _Star Wars_ , etc.).

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!


	3. Chapter 3

Holly Martin carefully edged her way out the front door, shutting it quickly and quietly behind her. Granted, she had let her sister Heather know what she was up to, but she still wanted to get out of the house before either Mom or Dad noticed. She had a mission to complete, she thought to herself, wrinkling her nose as the thought went through her head. She had to stop sitting in on the spy movies her brother was obsessed with those day. Coldness seeped into her hand as she began to cross the cul-de-sac; the frozen ice pack was beginning to hurt her. However, the pack wasn't for her, and she knew she had to get it to the proper person before it thawed.

Trotting over the black top, her feet soon enough sank into the grass of the Barnes' front yard. Crouching a bit, she avoided the main windows of the front rooms, circling around to the side of the house itself. She slowly approached the windows that let light into the Rogers' basement apartment, the glass boxes a little smaller due to being built so close to the ground. Her dad had spoken at length about the kind of house the Barnes' had, how much value they were adding to the property by renting to Sarah Rogers, but she hadn't paid attention to that. She was more concerned that she would find the right window, and the right person within the apartment itself.

Peering in, she soon enough found what she was looking for: a small bedroom, the walls painted light blue and the bedspread matching it in it checkered pattern. Posters for a couple of movies, along with a few comic book characters, were tacked to the walls, the closet shut tight and books sitting nearly everywhere. On the bed, sitting with a trapper keeper and open notebook, was the blond, thin boy she was hoping to see: Steve.

A strange sort of excitement went through her, though she chalked it up to confirming that her friend was indeed okay. On the walk home from school, they had been separated, and so she had to learn later from her brother that Steve had, once again, gotten into a fight. An annoyed breath had huffed out of her upon learning it, the worry and fear squashed down below; in the two years since she herself had been a target of a bully along with Steve, she had hoped that he would not be involved with them anymore. But there he was, proving her wrong again. She thought fourteen-year-olds were supposed to be smarter; she was only ten, but she knew better than to do such things.

Still, Hank had proclaimed simply that the bullies had shown up, picked a fight, and Steve had responded to them as they wished. Bucky, of course, had thrown himself into the fray as well, and it took Hank and Andy several minutes to actually get in and pull them all apart, everyone scattering when the distant voices of annoyed adults could be heard. Holly and Heather, along with Rebecca, had since made it home, but the news erupted along the cul-de-sac.

Now, Steve and Bucky were both grounded, and no doubt hurt. She just had to see the truth for herself, at least as far as Steve went (Buck's mom was already home from work to help him, and Holly wasn't as close to him, anyway).

Kneeling on the grass, she reached out and rapped her knuckles against the glass, causing the blond boy on the other side to look up. Even through the late afternoon sun, she could see the healing split on his lip and the huge shiner lining one eye. A few bruises on his chin were thrown into sharp relief when he got up from the bed and neared the window. Still, he was walking and able to smirk the tiniest bit, which she thought was a good sign.

"Hey, Holl," he greeted her, opening the window to actually speak to her. As she crouched a little closer, he dared to grin, aggravating the split in his lip. Putting up a hand to stop any potential bleeding, he muttered, "Ow."

Holly's brown eyes widened, sympathy and sadness welling up in them.

"I thought you said you wouldn't get beat up anymore," she said, reminding him of the promise he made her two years ago. It was a promise that, as it turned out, was incredibly difficult for him to keep. And a promise that she didn't fail to remind him of to try and keep.

"I said I'd try. I did try," he replied, a chagrined look on his face. A hand came up and rubbed the back of his neck, his head ducking slightly. "But they were being dumb."

The younger girl sighed audibly. She knew who _they_ were: the same group of boys who had been tormenting Steve on and off since Gil Hodge had dared to come after them both. Granted, Gil himself had been shipped off to military school by his father after being caught several times for bullying and fighting, but his crew remained. Jack Rollins and Brock Rumlow had taken point, seemingly switching off every few months on picking on Steve and going after him. Things rarely got physical, in the beginning, but lately, Steve had been trying to fight back as much as he could. Most of the fights happened off of school grounds, so no disciplinary actions were wrought by them, but a good number of the parents knew what was going on. She had heard her own mother's comments about it, how the Rumlows and the Rollins clans were very much of the "boys will be boys" attitude, which she always said with major disgust. Her dad speculated that it would only be a matter of time until Sarah Rogers actually chose to bring a lawsuit against them, but for the moment, grounding and separation as much as possible were all that happened.

Leaning closer to the window, she struck her arm through the opening, the cold pack in her hand almost burning now.

"Here. I brought you an ice pack."

Steve took it gratefully, unwrapping an old one and putting the cloth around the new.

"Thanks, the other one was getting too warm," he murmured, pressing it to his eye with a slight hiss. He flicked the fingers of his free hand down to the aforementioned pack, the towel it was wrapped in flopping against the carpet where it sat. Holly shook her head, laying on her stomach and bracing her chin on her folded arms.

"Hank said you were grounded, you and Bucky," she said, tipping her head up a little. The brunet boy was all too eager to explain the how and the consequences of Steve's latest escapade. The why, though, was something he was mum about, and she was not about to have that. Keeping her gaze squarely on the blond boy below her, she wondered, "What did the mean guys do to get you so mad this time?"

Steve's jaw stiffened so much that it looked like his teeth were about to crack from the pressure, and he blinked rapidly. Mottled red flooded his cheeks, and his breathing quickened.

"They said some bad stuff about Mom," he let out, his fists balling so hard his knuckles went white. As Holly's looked at him in concern and confusion, he shook his head, staring at his shoes and trying to calm down. "I don't wanna talk about it."

The younger brunette bit her lip for a moment, tugging on the end of her ponytail.

"Does she know?" she asked him, her tone lowered to a whisper. Looking at him, she noticed the blinking he had started, as if he were truly trying hard to stop himself from crying. It was bad, she could see that, bad enough to shake him so much. However, after a few seconds, he turned around, his free hand scrubbing at his face before he sat down on the end of his bed.

"Doesn't matter. She's sick of me fighting, so I'm grounded for the next week. And I'm not allowed to hang out with Bucky or anybody tonight." His shoulders hunched, and a forced chuckle fell out of his mouth. "Supposed be thinking about finding ways to not fight."

Holly let out a soft sigh, daring to air her own answer. "Like running away."

Steve turned back around then, his good eye red and puffy, the one with the shiner narrowing a bit further.

"That doesn't stop 'em from chasing you. You just show them your back and it becomes the next target." He got up, motioning to himself as he trotted back to the window. "They don't expect someone like me to hit back. It's not as hard, but it shows them they can't just say or do whatever they want to me."

"Oh," she replied, not having ever really thought about it before. The last time she dealt with any bullies directly was when Gil Hodge had threatened her. After that day, anybody who went after Steve refused to have anything to do with her. It was a perk of being younger, though it made her feel slightly guilty that the blond boy she considered her friend was attacked still. "They're jerks."

"Yeah," he agreed, letting out a deep breath. He brought up the borrowed ice pack again, the coolness of it soothing him. For a long moment, neither child spoke, each of them digesting the conversation in their own way. After a few minutes, Holly pushed herself up, turning around and beginning to dip her legs through the open window, one foot trying to find a hold. Steve jumped a bit as her toes thumped against the sill, and he crowed, "What are you doing?"

"I'm sick of being on the ground," she told him, huffing as she pushed herself back a little more. "I want to be inside."

Dropping the ice pack, the fourteen-year-old raised his thin arms, hands pressed to the backs of her jean-covered calves.

"I'm not supposed to let anyone inside."

She giggled at that. "I'm not anyone, I'm me. Help me down."

With her literally dangling through his window, Steve couldn't truly stop it from happening. Deciding to just accept it and figure it out once she was in, he bent his knees and moved his hands up to brace around her waist. Her feet smacked against his thighs as she pushed herself downward, and she let out a little squeal as she lost her hold on the sill. Despite banding his arms around her waist and pulling her in tightly, the pair still fell hard onto the carpet, a mesh of limbs and wheezing breaths.

"Ow!" Steve groaned, rippling pain exploding across his torso. Glancing down at the younger brunette in his arms and assessing that she was not hurt terribly, he let out another grumble. "You're heavy."

"Shut up," was her apt response, and she pushed away to sit up. Kicking off her shoes and brushing some of the dirt from her pants, she shot him a slight glare. "You just stink at catching people."

"Whatever," he retorted, rolling his eyes and sitting up, too. Hooking a thumb back at his closed bedroom door, he told her, "Well, my mom's upstairs with Mrs. Barnes right now, and I'm not allowed out of the house for anything."

Holly dipped her chin, her gaze flicking over to the far wall.

"You're grounded…but you still have your T.V. in here," she noted, the item in question sparking her interest. Generally, when she or her siblings got in trouble, those were the first things to go from their rooms (which made it all the more difficult when it was Heather that got in trouble, since they were still sharing a room). She also saw the console plugged in underneath it, and hummed happily.

Spying it as well, Steve raised his chin almost proudly. "And my games."

Nodding again, she looked at him, a mischievous glint to her gaze. "…Wanna play _Mario Kart_?"

For the first time, Steve gave her a real smile. "Sure. You're gonna lose, though."

She scoffed, shuffling forward to start it up. "Nah, I'll wipe you out."

After all, she often played against her game-loving older brother and her tricky-shooting sister she had learned to play with them. However, Steve had recently recovered from a bout of mononucleosis, during which he'd spent many an hour abed and with little to do but convalesce. He'd let her think that he'd had nothing to do with his own games in that time, that he didn't spend hours keeping his mind engaged while his body healed.

"Okay," was all he muttered, scooting over and sitting with his back against the foot of his bed. Delighted, Holly made quick work of firing up the system. Once they made it through to the title screen, she joined Steve to sit beside him, the pair of them readying themselves as he selected the first cup and track. With her Princess Peach competing against his Yoshi, time lost meaning as they went on track after track, nudging and muttering to each other as they went. Before long, Steve was far more at ease than he had been, and Holly had caught herself grinning widely even when he beat her on the track

She couldn't help it, though; he was smiling wide and his hands pumped in cheerful victory.

Still, there were a couple of times when she had gotten totally frustrated by his advanced skill.

"Ugh, you suck!" she cried, dropping the control at the end of the last race, hands scrubbing over her face to avoid looking at the seventh place spot her character was sitting in. Steve's was in first, and he was sporting his little shit-eating grin, the one he often wore when he was feeling particularly pleased.

"I told you, I'm good at this," he remarked, putting his controller down as well and crossing his arms over his chest. Glancing up at him, Holly let out a loud snort of derision.

"Nobody is good on Rainbow Road. You're a cheater," she stated bluntly, poking him in the side. There was some satisfaction found in making him gasp and shy away when she hit his ticklish spot, but not much.

"And you're a sore loser," he replied, retaliating by lightly pinching her cheek and tugging a bit.

"Am not."

"Are so."

The volleys were lobbed back and forth for a few moments, ending with the boy and girl trading pokes and elbow nudges as they sat back and stared up at the ceiling. Biting her lip, Holly glimpsed her friend out the corner of her eye, the distress of before having melted away from him. Looking at him closely, she let out a soft sigh.

"I don't get it," she murmured, the thought in her head blurted out. Steve cocked his head to look at her, spotting the red blush flooding her face when she realized she had spoken.

"Don't get what?" he asked, curious about what she was thinking. It could be any number of things after all, she was ten, and still learning. At fourteen, he was probably best suited to answer, provided it wasn't anything too crazy. Or too adult.

For a second or two, she scratched at the curve of her jaw, tugged at the end of her ponytail, before her big brown eyes met his again.

"How anybody can be mean to you," she confessed, her voice small in anticipation of being possibly mocked. "You're really nice, Stev—Steve."

Steve blinked, surprised by both her assessment and by the fact that she had stopped herself from calling him the baby-ish nickname he was known by for so long. A blush of his own began to creep up, burning his cheeks and ears, and he was the one to drop his gaze next. He felt her shoulder bump against his, and heard her slight laugh.

"Even if you are a cheater."

He snorted, shaking his head before running a hand through his hair.

"I'm not," he shot back, unable to hide the slight grin he was sporting. It faded, though, when he considered her words. He had no answers as to why the bullies kept coming, not back when Hodge had come after both of them, and not now, when it was just him taking the brunt of it. Maybe if he didn't fight back as often, they would've laid off by that point, but...it wasn't in his nature to accept it. Not when it had happened no matter what. Shrugging, he mumbled, "I dunno either, Holl. Only some people think I'm okay, I guess."

She scooted closer to him, taking his hand in hers before laying her head on his shoulder.

"Whoever doesn't think so is stupid," she whispered, squeezing his fingers gently before wrapping her arms around him in a hug. It took him a couple of seconds, but he found himself hugging her back.

"Thanks."

Three knocks came at the door, and they sprang apart, Holly and Steve staring up guiltily when it swung open. Dressed still in her scrubs from work, and her honey-blonde hair pulled into a braid, Sarah Rogers wore a weary expression, her blue eyes shining a bit despite the tired frown she sported.

"Steven…and Holly Martin," she noted, taking in the younger girl sitting beside her son and gulping audibly. The older woman crossed her arms, the tiny smile trying to stretch her lips forced back. She might have known that Steve would bend the rules she'd laid down upon coming home, but not with the person she'd expected. If anything, she had thought Bucky would be the one to sneak down after the grounding. Sighing, she gestured for Holly to come over. When the little girl rose up from her crouch, she murmured, "Your mother is wondering where you are, honey. It's time for you to head home."

Holly let a slow breath out of her nose, but she did as she was told. Grabbing up her shoes and shucking them on, she managed a little wave back to her friend as she passed his mother.

"Bye, Steve," she said, the boy doing no more than waving back and focusing on his knees again. Following Holly out, Sarah pinned her boy with a hard look, one that told him not to move a muscle. He didn't dare disobey, not that time. As she guided the girl up the stairs and out the door, she suppressed another sigh, bidding the child farewell as she rounded the house and went home. Once she knew she was safely ensconced with her family, Sarah went back to the basement apartment, heading straight to Steve's room. He had moved onto the bed, still staring at his knees with his hands in his lap. His jaw was set mulishly by that point, but she did not comment on it.

Instead, she stepped into the room, her hands on her hips while raising an eyebrow.

"I thought I told you to sit in here and think about your actions."

The set of his jaw hardened, and he shrugged his shoulders.

"Yeah, you did." It was over the phone, as she had yet to finish her shift at that point, but Freddie Barnes had done her duty, sending him straight to his room after his mother had laid down the law and ensuring that he obeyed. Well, obeyed as much as he could, apparently.

' _Looks just like his father,'_ she thought, the familiar stab of heartache lacing through her chest briefly. Inhaling deeply, Sarah made her way over to Steve, sitting next to him. When he did no more than blink and stare at the floor, she knew it would be best to continue.

"Steve, I'm still disappointed about what you did." Risking a glance sideways, she muttered, "However, I know that there are probably reasons behind why you chose to fight, again."

Hands balled into fists on his knees, and his breathing started to become erratic. Blinking hard, he turned away from her, not wanting his mother to see how badly he was still affected by what Brock and Jack had said. But, she had implied that she wished to know, and he was not the best liar.

"They called you a…" he trailed off, the words sticking in his throat, "and said that Dad was—"

Sarah took one of his hands between both of hers, rubbing his knuckles tenderly. "You can say it, honey. I promise I won't be upset."

Looking up at her, Steve tried to breathe properly again, the redness in his face increasing even as he closed his eyes. Sarah gently began to fix his hair, fingers carding through the strands as he slowly told her what had caused him to fight back that time.

"They called Dad an idiot for being in the army, and then said he was stupid for dying," he mumbled, so low that he was nearly whispering. The hurt in his voice was evidence enough of his distress, but the bend of his neck and his inability to keep looking at her reinforced its presence. Shoulders began to shake as his tone wobbled, a hard cough or two knocking the rest of the truth out. "And then they said you were probably happy that he died, and let you go out with a bunch of guys, because you probably don't want anything to do with him or with me."

Sarah paled, reading between the lines of what her son was clearly still refusing to say.

"I bet they probably said something worse than that I date around," she ventured aloud. It was true that, very recently, she had been on a couple dates. She'd been out a couple of times with one of the administrators at the hospital, who worked for a different department, as well as a single date with Nick Fury. As a single mother of relative attractiveness, she had garnered attention from other parents, from fathers who saw a form of freedom in her that they couldn't get from their wives. However, she never entertained any of them—one of them being Brock Rumlow's dad, a shady fellow who was notorious for flirting with anything that was female—and that, coupled with ignorance, likely fed rumors about her. For the most part, things were smooth, but snags were hit on occasion, and often they were hit because of the children who decided that Steve needed to bear the brunt of it, too.

Steve's uninjured eye, along with the bruised one, dropped a tear or two, all of which he hastily swiped away. He was fourteen; he could not cry anymore, not like a little baby, not in front of his mother.

"Yes. Please don't make me say it, Mom," he begged, withdrawing his hand from her grip and wrapping them around his torso. Jack and Brock had called his mother a whore, a slut, and a tease—all things they had heard their parents calling Sarah Rogers when they thought they weren't listening. And it must have been true; what else could she be, given that she hadn't remarried after her husband's death? She must have thought he deserved it, and that it allowed her to do whatever she wished. Never mind that a good chunk of her time was devoted to nursing sick kids at the hospital in the city. Never mind that she only truly went out at Mrs. Barnes' prompting, even when she had expressed her wish to stay at home. Losing Dad was horrible enough, so how could she want to potentially go through that again? How could she want to put Steve through that again? He personally hadn't minded too much when his mother went out; it did bother him a little, but he'd reached the age where he could understand she was not going to try and replace his father with a new man. Still, it hurt terribly to be told otherwise, even if he knew in his heart of hearts that none of it was true.

"I won't, sweetheart," she promised him softly, combing the part in his hair before trailing her fingers down to his chin. Her thumb swept over the bruised skin there lightly, and she carefully persuaded him to face her again. Looking him straight in the eye, blue meeting blue, she professed, "I've already told you that I don't like how much you've been fighting lately. It's not good, not even if you feel the reasons are sound. But…I can't say that I don't understand how you feel about hearing hurtful things." Another hard twinge ran through her. She'd heard nasty things, horrible things, that had been said about her own boy. The other nurses on her floor had gossiped about him, how sickly and spindly he was, and that he likely would develop something much worse down the line than asthma and a B-12 deficiency. It made her blood boil, but she had reined in her temper each time. Barely. "Especially about people you love. And I swear, none of what those boys said has a lick of truth. You know that, right?"

He lowered his head then, and sighed, "Yeah. I was just so mad. They don't have any idea what it was like after Dad died."

Similar grimaces graced their faces, and Sarah shook her head.

"No, they don't. But you and I do, along with the people whose opinions actually matter." Scooting closer, she braced her hands on her son's shoulders, meeting his eye and emphasizing, "That's what is important. Don't let them have the power to hurt you, Steven; they don't matter."

It took a few moments, the words sinking in as the pain and anger in her boy started to subside, but soon enough, Steve was nodding, conceding to the merit of what he was told. The tired grin that had tried to come out earlier on her lips was allowed to do so then, and Sarah leaned forward, pecking his forehead with affection.

"C'mon, it's time for dinner," she said, one last peck planted on his cheek before she stood up. Catching him scrub at his skin to banish the kiss (he wasn't a baby, after all, something he'd lamented about in the past when she dared to do so; she always had a bit of a private chuckle at that), she said nothing, instead waiting as he scooped up two ice packs from the floor.

"Okay."

Inclining her head, she went to leave the room, ready to prepare something for the both of them. She paused in the doorway, though, casting her gimlet gaze upon him once more.

"Just so you know, though, you're spending tomorrow night on your own, like you should have today. Playing video games with Holly does not constitute thinking about the consequences of your actions," she intoned lightly, total seriousness outlining her features. Steve let out a soft groan, but he did not dare to go against her wishes. He'd already done it once today; it would be unwise to anger his mother.

For as much as he resembled his dad, he was her son, too.

"Yes, ma'am," he grumbled, the polite title tacked on when her eyebrow inclined a fraction. Nodding, she gestured for him to follow, to set him to his duty of setting the table while she reheated the leftover chicken and potatoes she'd made the evening before.

"Love you, sweetie," she said, the pair of them letting out slow breaths as they left the room.

* * *

 **A/N:**...I know, it's another chapter dealing with bullies/bullying. However, I am of the opinion that Steve had likely gone through some form of this kind of bullying when he was young, even in canon, due to the circumstances of his father's death and his birth. Single mothers, and a single mother trying to make it through the 1920's-1930's, would not have it easy, and would be subject to ridicule even if their husbands had died serving in the army. And, Steve being Steve, he likely would've gone after whoever dared to call his mother such things, no matter the century. But, as Sarah says in the text, words like that shouldn't matter, so long as you and the people who really know you know the truth.

Next chapter will have less bullying, I can say that much, though I do not know when I will be posting it. Hopefully sooner than this one, I know...

I have also posted a one-shot that is part of the _Of Time_ universe, call _Valentines_. Guess when I posted it. ;) I'd really appreciate it if you all could take a look it is a Steve/Holly one-shot.

And, as a final reminder, I do have a Twitter you all can follow for story updates as well—given how touchy the site can be at times. My handle is PhanProTweets.

I own nothing from the MCU, nor do I own any other pop culture references made in the text (Marvel comics, _Mario Kart_ , etc.).

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!


	4. Chapter 4

Like many things in life, the bullying and the fights that had driven Steve Rogers had started to abate by the time he had entered high school. Freshman years saw him shoot up a couple of inches, though he was still the shortest boy in his grade. However, it did mark the end of being pushed around consistently, the increase in activities and schoolwork for himself and his classmates tending to take up far more time than any of them had imagined. Still, he was determined to truly keep his promise to Holly, and he did not seek out any fights. Nor did he give the bullies that occasionally came after him the power they craved over him, as his mother had suggested. And so, time marched on, for him and for the other families living in the cul-de-sac.

Before he knew it, he was seventeen, having just started his last year of high school and preparing applications for colleges for the next autumn. Bucky, having graduated the prior spring, had settled for some community college classes in the next suburb over, commuting to school and still living at home. Across the street, the Martins had seen off Hank to his own graduation, his own attendance at a university in St. Paul also granting him the ability to commute and live at home still. Heather was in high school as well, and Holly, along with Rebecca Barnes was in middle school. Growing up and separating had to happen, but not just yet. Steve was still able to go to and from school with the girls, entreating him to a world he had not been much immersed in.

It did make him slightly appreciative of his status as an only child, for a moment, whenever the talk turned to hot movie actors and musicians, but he wasn't too put off by it all.

One Tuesday in October, once he was settled into his new school year routine, the blond boy had found himself preparing to complete his homework. As he had since first moving to Minnesota, Steve entered through the front door of the Barnes' home, heading straight for the kitchen. He and Bucky had preferred to do their homework there, whenever they were both home at the same time, and the tradition had continue even with Bucky attending the community college. The brunet boy was already there, notebook opened along with a college-level algebra textbook. Grunted greeting passed between them, the leftover muffins in the basket from breakfast being dug into while the two young men worked. Freddie and George Barnes had wandered in and out as well, but neither took any notice until Rebecca came in, literally skipping and humming. Her cheerfulness caught their attentions, and they both looked up.

"Hey, squirt," Bucky called out as Rebecca came into the room. When she rolled her eyes at the childish nickname, he smirked at Steve and shook his head. Chuckling to himself, it continued as his little sister started to comb through the cupboards near the fridge fast. Inclining his head—and pushing the book to one side—he asked, "Whoa, where's the fire?"

"No fire," Rebecca responded, shaking her head. She was practically vibrating as she munched on some chips, a secretive little grin on her lips. "Just getting a quick snack before picking out some clothes."

Bucky snorted audibly at that.

"What for? You barely plan ahead what you wear to school and church. What else..." he trailed off, thoughts clicking into place as he looked at his little sister. Eyes narrowed suspiciously, and he grunted, "Hold on."

Coyly, Becca tipped her chin, nearly black locks falling around her shoulders and her gaze lighting up.

"It's nothing, just…Jake Kinsey asked me out!" she gushed, a broad smile stretching her lips.

Bucky's brow furrowed. "You're twelve!"

Becca rolled her eyes ever harder than before. "I'm thirteen, dummy."

Almost fourteen, truth be told—her birthday was coming up in April—but it was the principle of the matter that had Bucky on edge. For his part, Steve set his chin in his palm and watched the little tableau play out, textbook forgotten.

"Still!" the brunet boy shot back, bright eyes narrowing as he stood up. Assuming what Steve private referred to as his old brother pose (arms crossed, feet spread, and spine stiff as a board as he prepared to lecture his sister), Bucky inquired, "Have you told Mom and Dad about this?"

Freddie Barnes rounded the corner then, giving her second-eldest son a fast and sharp look.

"Yes, she had," she stated mildly, causing Bucky lose some of his bluff and bluster. He had heard the pair of ladies chattering earlier, but hadn't paid it any mind. Neither had his friend, and he didn't doubt that Bucky regretted not doing so at that moment. Snickering silently to himself, Steve listened as she continued to speak. "And it's up to you and Andy to decide who has to chaperone them."

Both her children in the room gave out resounding groans, though Becca had the temerity to roll her eyes again.

"Like we need a babysitter," she grumbled, hushing when her mother's look turned onto her. She swiftly took a chip out of the bag she'd nabbed from the cupboard, munching on it as she strode past her.

From the living room, behind the newspaper he was unable to read earlier, Mr. Barnes retorted, "If you want to go at all, you will accept our terms, young lady."

Rebecca sighed, turning to her snack again, and Steve smirked as well. However, his smile lessened when he realized what was missing in the picture before him.

"So, where's Holly?" he asked the younger girl. Holly and Becca traded off spending late afternoons at each other's houses, going over homework and their days in middle school. With the other brunette missing, he was curious. "Figured she'd be over to gush about this sort of thing, too."

"Dunno," Rebecca mused, her brow furrowing lightly as she bit her lip. Lifting a shoulder, she told him, "She was acting a little weird today. Said she wasn't feeling okay after lunch. Probably the cafeteria hot dogs."

Bucky raised an eyebrow at that, and he and Steve shared a look.

"Really," Steve intoned, arching a brow as well. School cafeteria food had never affected him that badly, and he was the one people felt the need to worry about. (That was the one blessing in his life: no food allergies.) It was unlikely Holly had been so affected, either, but who knew? Glancing at Becca, he wondered, "You believe that?"

The youngest Barnes scratched at her chin, concern registering on her face. "She won't talk to me. I tried, but she just kinda ran by me after class ended."

"Hmm," was Steve's only response to that. Turning his attention down to his history book, he started to jot down a few notes on the chapter, the chatter of Becca and her brothers swirling around him as she gushed about the Jake kid. She brandished the Nokia she often borrowed from their father, indicating she had called him to further firm up details, before letting it fall onto the counter before her brother. They would be attending a movie on Saturday, pending Bucky and Andy's debate upon who would chaperone their sister. By the time dinner had rolled around, it seemed that the middle Barnes child was going to be the one attending upon the younger girl, and he pointedly cracked his knuckles in preparation.

Saturday came, and during the day, Steve had left his books down in the apartment to spend a little free time with his friend. Buck had more to tell about his college courses, such as they were, while the pair of them duked it out over a boxing game on the gaming console. Hours were spent in that fashion, with Becca flitting in and out of the periphery. Once again, she had been on her own preparing for the outing that night, her mother attending to her. Noting that strangeness, Steve logged it away, letting it simmer in the background as his own mother came upstairs to kiss him farewell before her evening shift at the hospital. Soon enough, Bucky was escorting Becca to his car, the two of them sniping in a joking manner all the way to the vehicle. Left on his own, Steve did eat with Mr. and Mrs. Barnes, the two adults inviting him to spend some time in their part of the house instead of heading back down to the apartment. He'd just flicked on the television when he could hear a thumping, rubbery sound thudding outside.

Glancing out the front window of the living room, Steve located the source of the noise. It was the bouncing of a basketball on tar, reverberating across the cul-de-sac from the Martin's driveway. And,a s it turned out, it was Holly shifting the ball from hand to hand, her back to the Barnes house as she took a shot at the hoop attached above the garage door. The blond boy shrugged a shoulder to himself, detouring from his path back to the apartment to the front door. He needed a few minutes away from homework, and he might as well have a bit of fun with his friend from across the way.

Closing up the door firmly behind him, it took him halfway through his crossing before Holly noticed him. Her dark eyes widened at him before she dropped her gaze and pivoted slightly. Frowning inwardly, Steve was undeterred, striding right up to the younger girl. They were of a height at that time, with her having gained a couple inches over the summer...and likely to gain a few more in the future, he mused privately, knowing how tall her brother was.

(Her sister, though, was holding steady at her five-foot-two status, something Steve had shared a joking glee in since he finally was taller than somebody he knew. Heather had merely rolled her eyes and socked him in the shoulder playfully whenever he did mention it.)

"Hey," Steve said, shooting her a—what he hoped was—winsome smile. When she did no more than glance at him and grunt, the grin began to fade. A few hard dribbles were made before she took her next shot, the basketball rolling around the rim before falling out. A huff of disappointment followed, but still she did not speak. Steve watched her for a second or two, his resolve hardening yet again. Holding his hands up, he asked, "Pass the ball?"

Holly looked at him again, shrugging her shoulders and doing as he asked. Catching it, Steve flicked his gaze over her once more as he took a shot. Her posture had remained rigid, and she seemed to be moving woodenly whenever she ran up to shoot. Catching her quietly sniffling in between his own dribbling, he felt his personal resolve hardening. They had known each other for years; she couldn't hide it very well whenever she was upset, and he tended to pick up on it quicker than some of the others in their friend group.

He had to get to the bottom of it.

"Where's Hank and Heather?" he asked, casually clearing his throat and lining up his next shot. It rebounded off the rim, and Holly jogged to catch it. Dribbling it lazily, she gave him a shrug.

"Heather's out with her friends, Hank's with girl named Ashley." She sneaked a fast glance at him, curious as well. "You didn't want to hang out with Bucky?"

It was Steve's turn to shrug, catching the ball as she passed it with some ease. "He's chaperoning Becca's little 'date' tonight. Their mom and dad wouldn't let her go, if he or Andy didn't."

At once, her expression turned sour, and Steve let out a silent whoop in his head. That had gotten him somewhere, if inadvertently so.

"Oh, right," she mumbled, scuffing the toe of her shoe on the pavement. Lining up his shot, Steve's bright gaze flicked to her, watching her as her posture turned a bit stiff.

"I was kinda surprised you didn't come over and help her get ready or somethin'," he noted. It was true; Holly and Rebecca had been good friends for years. It was odd that she hadn't been there to help her prepare in some way, considering it was her first ever date. Instead, he had listened to Bucky groan and grumble about his little sister being taken up with some punk while his mother chided him from Becca's room.

The brunette girl before him crossed her arms, her jaw setting mulishly. "She has her mom. She didn't need me."

At that, Steve pointedly tucked the ball under his arm, refusing to pass it to her when she gestured for it.

Shaking his head, he instead asked, "Okay, what's going on?"

For a long moment, she just stared at him, her face going pale and then flushing red as he returned the scrutiny. For the last few days she'd been too quiet, too withdrawn, and it had bothered him (bothered them all, really; her brother and sister had shared uncomfortable glances whenever she wandered away from them, and Rebecca had gotten nothing but the silent treatment to her own questions). Now, when the mere mentioned of Becca's date had gotten her back up—

 _Oh._ A click, and understanding flooded Steve. But before he could say anything, she spoke first.

"Am I ugly, Steve?"

Nonplussed by her inquiry, Steve asked, "What?"

Holly stood her ground, even as her lip wobbled a little. "You heard me. Am I ugly, or something?"

He was utterly flabbergasted at her pronouncement. Granted, Holly was no model, but nobody was at thirteen years old. (He certainly wasn't, being short and skinny as he was.) She was cute, he could admit that much, even with the braces on her teeth and the baby roundness of her cheeks still not having faded. She was still growing, still figuring things out, but she certainly wasn't ugly. He shook his head vehemently as she bit her lip, clearly having taken his silence as affirmation.

"You're not," he avowed, blinking rapidly at her. "Who told you that you are?"

Whoever it was, was gonna get decked, he decided in that moment. Never mind his smaller stature and size. Nobody was allowed to do that to Holly and get away with it, and he'd kept to that promise since he was ten.

"I..." she trailed off, her dark eyes focusing on her sneakers. Arms came up and curled around her stomach, a few shaky breaths being taken as she tried to look at him again.

"Hey, come on," he murmured, getting closer. Reaching out, he snagged one of her wrists, pulling it away from her side and drawing her forward a couple steps. When she flicked her gaze up at him, his brow furrowed. "You can tell me."

"Just...the guy Becca's hanging out with tonight. I…"

"Yeah?"

Her gaze remained riveted to her shoes, and her breathing had become shaky. Her voice lowered to nearly a whisper when she confessed the truth to him, little cracks marring the word as she went.

"I like him. _Like_ , like him. And he picked her. I thought he liked me, but then he asked her. So…what's wrong with me?"

She looked up fully, tears flooding into her eyes as his suspicions were confirmed. The poor thing had a crush, and her crush had chosen her best friend to date instead. Wincing at the thought, at the idea that she thought that something had to be wrong with her for some guy not to like her, Steve felt his own stomach tighten in sadness and indignation.

"Oh, Holl," he murmured, his heart aching for her in that moment. As her face crumpled further into tears, he reached out once more, gathering her into his arms. "Hey, c'mere."

Her arms wrapped tightly around him, clinging hard as she buried her face against his shoulder. Her hot tears stained his shirt, but he did not care. Instead, he began to rock minutely, rubbing her back and wondering what on Earth he could do to make it better for her.

"I just, I thought he—and then she—"she blubbered, trying to catch her breath between sobs to speak. Steve immediately pivoted them both toward the retaining wall lining the side of the drive. Sitting them both down, he continued to lightly pat her back as she cried, her words failing her.

"I know, it's tough," he crooned low, pushing back his own sick feelings to continue comforting her. "I gotcha, kiddo."

Were she in any other frame of mind, Holly would've objected to the term 'kiddo', but such was her distress that she let it slide. Several long minutes passed, in which her heavy sobs eventually petered to light gasps. Evening started to take hold, coolness starting to lace the air. The flowing tears turned into trickles, and soon enough she was pulling away, sniffing against the drips coming out of her nose and red rimming her eyes.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she muttered, using the backs of her own hands to swipe away the residual water on her face. Steve, only dropping one arm from around her, shook his head.

"It's okay. I get where you're coming from. Really, I do," he told her, gently combing back a strand of her hair behind her ear. The old, residual hurts of his own past surfaced in his mind, and he couldn't help but frown as he thought about it. Dropping his hand in his lap and staring down at his shoes, he muttered, "A lot of girls have used me to get to Buck, for a long time. Even some I've liked. I know how much it can hurt to find out that you were wrong."

And boy, did he know how much that stung. While Bucky was his best friend, the brother he never had, it was difficult at times to be around him. Over the years, the older boy had gotten taller, hitting six feet by his sophomore year while Steve had stopped at five-foot-four, and filled out as well. He'd alternated between football and baseball, getting strong while Steve attended games and was relegated to playing catch in the yard. Naturally, James Buchanan Barnes drew in attention, and had a lot of girls admiring him through his school career. And everybody knew his best friend was the kid a year younger than him, shorter and skinny…and the perfect gateway.

Rachel Leighton had been the first, the pretty redhead from Steve's class that the blond boy had developed a crush on. Unfortunately, her striding up to him in the hall and nearly demanding Buck's number sort of destroyed any potential feelings after that. And from there, the situation only spiraled. To his credit, Bucky was able to recognize when his friend was into certain girls, and he was quick to try and point them in his direction. Still, it was something of a relief that the brunet boy had graduated and was in college; at least Steve didn't have to worry about being propositioned in that way any longer.

His focus came back onto Holly, the younger girl's disheartened expression piercing him.

"But that doesn't mean there's anything wrong with you," Steve asserted, grinning and attempting to coax a smile out of her. She merely rolled her eyes and stared at her shoes.

"Whatever."

"No, not 'whatever,'" he contradicted her, shaking his head emphatically. Laying his palm on her upper back, he would not allow her to get down on herself. "Holly, you're smart, and honest, and sweet. You are." His insistence had been met with a scoff, but he spotted the blush surfacing in her cheeks, the bare quirk at the corner of her mouth, and he had to continue. "Any guy would be lucky to be with you. This isn't the end of the world, I promise you. It hurts, but you'll keep going. You're strong, you'll make it."

The younger girl looked at him, some of the warmth in her dark eyes returning as she sniffed back the last of her tears. As she swiped away the residual tracks on her face, she let the corner of her mouth lift in a facsimile of a smile. Impulsively, she grabbed one of his hands, the dampness ignored as she squeezed her fingers around his palm.

"Thank you, Steve," she told him, the absolute sincerity finally pushing the sadness away. Grateful to see her recovering, he merely grinned back at her. Tilting her head, she let out a soft sigh as she continued to look him over, too. "Y'know, you're strong, too. And so nice. If those girls can't see that, they're dumb."

Steve snorted affably, shaking his head. "Thanks for that. And, for the record, you're not ugly. At all."

Pink flushed into her cheeks then, and she dropped her grip from his, instead picking at the hem of her shirt. The further fall of night began to encompass them, streetlamps beginning to brighten and the flood light beside the garage door of her house illuminating them. As the barest breeze rustled through the grass, Holly let out another soft breath, finally pushing herself to stand up.

"I better go inside before Mom and Dad come out to yell at me."

The blond boy stood as well, scratching at the back of his neck. "I suppose I better head back, too."

Holly gathered up the basketball, wondering, "Your mom's working late tonight, right?"

"Yeah, but I've got a paper to work on for English class, so I'll be busy," Steve explained. "Plus Mrs. Barnes will be doing the rounds to make sure I'm behaving soon."

"Darn," she attempted to joke, snapping the fingers of one hand. "No parties for you then."

"Sorry, nothing to crash tonight," he retorted, smirking at her before pivoting on his heel. Before he got to the end of the driveway, though, he stopped, looking back at the younger brunette. Waiting until she met his gaze, he let his expression even out, another concern surfacing then. "Holl? Becca's still your friend, too."

At once, anger, discomfort, and heartbreak lined her faced again, but Steve preempted any argument Holly could have made to the contrary.

"She didn't know, did she?" he pressed, arching an eyebrow at her. Her face fell once more, and her gaze dropped to her shoes as she wrapped her arms around the basketball. He paused, knowing that it was unlikely that Becca would ever go out with anyone her best friend had feelings for. She was cut from the same cloth as her brother, truly, and Holly knew that, too. Soon enough, the youngest Martin was shaking her head in the negative, and Steve sought to get her back to what she had. He sought to get her back the friendship that threatened to splinter. "Try not to hold it against her when she had no idea."

Holly looked at him then, blinking rapidly, and when she muttered her good nights, he could have sworn her chin had dipped in agreement. He couldn't be totally sure, though, and had to settle for saying farewell and heading back home himself as twilight waned.

 **xXxXxXx**

The following Monday, Holly had seemed to take his advice, going to Rebecca and shyly asking how she was. After several days of silence, the Barnes girl was a little stunned that her friend was speaking to her again, but it seemed to be just the thing that was needed. The two younger girls tarried behind the elder children, trading small words back and forth, before the pair had caught up in a hug, muttered apologies flying between them. Upon finding out that Holly had had feelings for the boy she'd gone out with over the weekend, she vowed that she wouldn't even give Jake Kinsey another look. Holly demurred as much as she could, but Steve caught how she didn't exactly tell her no. Both girls were going to be done with the kid, from what he could tell, and they would be better for it.

(For his part, Hank had clapped him on the shoulder when they'd gotten home, silent thanks for being the one to eventually get Holly talking to her friend again, and Heather had a smile for him, too.)

During the day, though, they had separated, the girls to their middle school and Steve and Heather to the high school. On his own, once again, he was at his locker after fourth period, sorting through the stack at the bottom and trying to find his English textbook. Finally locating it, he gave a small crow of triumph to himself as the other students milled around him.

However, his personal peace was interrupted by a soft, sweet voice cutting through the chatter.

"Hey."

Looking up, Steve blinked. A pretty girl, just a couple inches taller than him, was standing there. Her warm brown eyes were lit up by her small grin, bowed lips curving as she tilted her head. Straightened blonde locks fell over her shoulders, and she clutched her trapper keeper and two covered books closer to her chest. Swallowing a little, Steve let the corner of his mouth curl up hesitantly.

"Uh, hi," he greeted her, trying to place her face. He had seen her around, but he wasn't completely sure where. The girl's grin widened a bit, and was sweet as she took another step closer to him.

"You're Steve, right?" she asked him. "You sit toward the front in Mr. Dugan's history class in third hour."

"Yeah," he confirmed, blue eyes narrowing the tiniest fraction. Looking at the round curve of her face and the set of her posture, it finally clicked. She was the new girl in class, the one who sat ahead a couple rows of him in the aforementioned history course. Eyes widened as he murmured, "Oh, yeah, you're Sharon."

"Yep. Moved here a month ago with my aunt," she replied, something lighting her brown irises at his recollection. A smattering of pink lined her cheekbones then, and she told him, "I just wanted to say that, well, it's cool how much you knew in class today. I think Mr. Dugan was about to have a fit."

Steve snickered and ducked his head. Mr. Dugan had a great propensity for teaching history, but he tended to follow a more traditional approach to the subject. As for himself, Steve enjoyed asking him about the gritty details of the subject he'd learned on his own. He supposed poking fun at Churchill's drinking and such during his life was not essential to Mr. Dugan's World War 2 lecture, but he couldn't help himself. Something the instructor knew all too well about his pupil.

"Nah, he's alright. When he gets that red in the face, it actually means you're okay with him," he confessed to her, the corners of his mouth curving up as he lifted a shoulder. "He'd rather have smart answers than stupid ones."

She laughed at that, her eyes creasing and her face filled with mirth.

"Fair enough." A few moments of silence passed between them, the pair glancing down at their shoes and shuffling in their stances. Glancing up again, Steve caught her tucking a few stray strands of hair behind her ear. Sharon looked him in the eye once more, and after a deep breath, she asked, "Do you...do you mind if I sit with you at lunch today? I'm a little behind everyone in history, and I don't know anybody else all that well..."

For the second time within a week, Steve was gobsmacked. The pretty, sweet new girl wanted to sit with him? At lunch, in front of of everyone? He wasn't exactly popular, and while he wasn't the worst of the lot, he knew his standing wouldn't help her break into the cliques that surrounded them.

But...how could he say no?

"S-sure," he said, the barest stutter impacting the word. At his agreement, her smile brightened exponentially, and the flutter in his chest registered again, a little stronger that time. With that, the pair of them turned and walked together down the hall, splitting to go to their separate courses.

The first lunch together was followed by another the next day, and the next, the boy and girl trading notes and comments about the history lessons and how she was getting along in her new class. Sharon often felt adrift at her new school, the move from Maryland still jarring to her (and it didn't help that her aunt was British; the older woman herself had gotten a bit turned around on occasion, her new job in the Capitol building having disoriented her, too, in multiple ways). Steve, though he had been in Minnesota for nearly ten years, could commiserate, and told her a few stories about his first weeks adjusting to a new state and a new home. Closer and closer were they drawn together, and by Friday, Sharon was bypassing waiting for her aunt to pick her up from school, instead choosing to walk part of the path home with Steve and the others before turning down onto her road.

After they said their farewells, Steve watched her go as she trod down the sidewalk, her hair swinging a little as she moved. Trailing his eyes over her, he glanced up in time to catch her looking back at him, a smile stretching her lips. He blushed, but did not look away. Instead, he waved, and she waved back, delight lining their features before she turned around the end of the block and was gone from sight.

Turning to continue on his path, he stopped short when he spotted Holly there, her arms crossed over her chest and her chin raised as she stared at him. Lost for words, he stammered a little before she started to giggle.

"So one of them can see it," she said, striding up to him. His blush darkened as she wrapped her arms around him, giving him a hard hug. "Good for you, Stevie."

Unable to deny it himself, and so pleased with it that he could barely stand it, he smirked down at the younger girl, hugging her back.

"Thanks, Holl," he replied, veritably whistling when they let each other go and started to walk away. He did not notice the slight receding of the brunette girl's smile, or the tiny shake of her head as she brushed away the niggling feeling in the pit of her stomach. She was happy, Steve was happy. Everything was okay, and would remain so.

* * *

 **A/N:** Another month goes by, and I post again. I do want to get better about this, truly. I'll keep trying; my personal anxiety issues decided to super-ramp up the last couple of months, and it's finally starting to calm down a bit, so hopefully I can work at this all again.

This time around, Steve gives Holly the chance to lean on him. Still got a ways to go for them, so don't let Sharon throw you off just yet. ;)

Happy St. Patrick's Day, to all those who are Irish, and even to those who aren't. :)

I own nothing from the MCU, nor do I own any other pop culture references made in the text (Marvel comics, Nokia, etc.).

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!


	5. Chapter 5

Leaning back against his seat, Steve Rogers lifted his head as the captain of the flight announced that the plane would begin its descent. Bucky Barnes, out cold beside him, heard nothing of the speech that followed, his light snoring uninterrupted. The captain had been one of the more chipper ones, brightly thanking them all for flying upon the airline. As well as that, she welcomed those who called Minneapolis and St. Paul home back before clicking off. The corners of his mouth curved a little at that. Minnesota had become a little bit like home, now that he was no longer living there.

The call of college had summoned him, as it had so many others, and he had heeded it nearly three years ago. Memory enveloped him as he thought back upon the work he put into filling out applications...for finding a way out of Minnesota in the first place.

" _Wow…the School of Visual Arts," Sarah had murmured, looking down at the filled application Steve had set beside her dinner plate one night. The time for him to enroll was running out, and he had to get everything in for his choices for colleges for the fall. He had planned to apply to a few in-state, but this option, the art school based in Brooklyn, had beckoned him as no others did. The programs for it were promising, branching out in the burgeoning world of social media platforms and beyond. His tendency towards cartoons, and comic-style drawing, had its own division, and he was enamored before he knew it. Taking a chance, he'd filled out the application, gotten several submission pieces photographed and scanned into the computers at school, but he knew it wouldn't fly without his mom's approval._

 _Across the table from her, Steve looked composed, save for the tense expression on his face and his hands wringing (unseen) in his lap._

" _I know it's a long way, and tuition for someone technically out-of-state is higher, but…" he trailed off, staring at the papers as she leafed through them, her other hand carefully spearing a bite of chicken and deftly putting it in her mouth. As she chewed, he chewed as well, though his was more gnawing at his lower lip. Surreptitiously, Sarah looked at her son. Steve, while he was no taller than he had been, had grown so much in the last few years. He was shaping into the man he would truly become once he left the apartment, and she could not have been prouder of him, in spite of his spats and scraps over the years. The longing in his irises was not something she could ignore, and as she swallowed, she also let out a soft sigh._

" _But you've been trying to find a way back to Brooklyn since you were eight," she murmured aloud, leaning back in her seat and smiling softly. Her grin turned into a knowing on when her boy flashed her a fast, surprised look. She wasn't blind, or stupid. Numerous times, she had caught Steve looking through the Internet, finding pictures of the bridge or the park near their old building, the skyline of the city in print and hanging above his bed. The accent they'd both had upon moving had been repressed, but Steve's found ways to peek out, and she could see the nostalgia in his eyes when he realized. He was still in love with the city, even after years away, and it had not abated during that dinner, either._

 _Shrugging a shoulder, she continued, "I do know you, sweetie. It'll be tight, and you will have to take out loans, but if your heart is set on it, Steven, then you should go."_

 _Warmth and joy burst through Steve then, and his brilliant grin lit up his entire face. Sure, he supposed that he would have to do dorms until graduation and eating ramen outside of whatever meal plan he was put on, but...he could apply to New York. He could finally go back to New York, after nearly nine years of pining for it. Moved by his mother's blessing, he reached across the table, taking her free hand and squeezing it._

" _Mom, thank you," he breathed, rising from his chair then and practically running around the table to hug her. She chuckled as she reciprocated, her thin arms squeezing him back before letting him go. For the remainder of the meal, Steve chattered excitedly about talking with the school guidance counselor, about the options for student loans and everything that he was prepared to investigate if he got in. As he spoke, he felt his mother's gaze upon him, and when he looked at her fully once more, her expression was wistful. Blinking, his speech slowed and he asked, "What?"_

 _Her head tilted to the left, her smile becoming sentimental. "Just being reminded that my little boy is all grown up."_

 _Red tinted the young man's cheeks, and he glanced away. "Ma."_

" _Your father would be proud. I know I am, she stated, inclining her chin to punctuate her point. Joseph Rogers would have been enormously pleased with their son, with his perseverance and his determination to see what he put himself to through. Picking up her fork again, she pointed at Steve and narrowed her gaze. "You just make sure to call in, okay? This old woman will miss you."_

 _The flush was broken by an eye roll, and Steve began to eat the last remnants of his dinner._

" _I will, I promise."_

Steve smiled to himself as he recalled that evening. It seemed that time had gone by so quickly. One minute he was asking for his mom's support to go for his top choice, the next, he was accepted. Bucky had called him a goof when he'd confessed to fretting about not getting in. Even Holly had pointed at his newest sketchbook (the one she'd gifted to him years ago sat upon the shelf in his closet, the first of several he kept there) and told him that he was being silly to think his talent wouldn't be appreciated. Years of sketching on napkins, on margins of tests and newspapers, of picking up as many drawing instruction books he could get his hands on, ultimately paid off in the form of his acceptance packets.

 _Holly had stopped by to drop off a container her mom had borrowed from his, Sarah ushering her into the basement apartment for a treat before sending her home. She smiled a bit awkwardly at Steve, the new bands on her braces seeming to hurt a little, but when her eyes fell upon the paperwork he was combing over, her grin morphed into an O of surprise._

" _So you're going to Brooklyn, then," she muttered, her dark gaze latching onto the welcome letter and the displayed address at the top. Proudly, Steve nodded, smiling wide. Before he knew it, though, she was sniffing, and she threw her arms around his shoulders as she hugged him. "I'm gonna miss you."_

 _Awkwardly, he shot a look to his mother, panic about what to do setting in. While he had helped the younger girl with her issues with Becca, it still threw him when she chose to unload her emotions on him. For her part, Sarah merely raised an eyebrow, seeming to silently ask him what he'd expected to happen. Realizing he wouldn't get much aid from his mother, he started to pat Holly on the back._

" _I'll be back for holidays, and summer, too. You'll barely notice that I'm gone."_

 _When she pulled away, he gestured for her to sit down by him. Taking the proffered seat, she leaned forward, picking up the brochure about the housing options available to him. Her brown eyes took it all in, sliding over to him briefly._

" _What about Sharon?" she wondered, curiosity and something unnamed flashing over face as she asked after his girlfriend of a couple of months. With his head bent over the papers, he didn't see the shift, and by the time he looked up, only the curiosity remained. "Does she know you're heading to the Big Apple?"_

 _He nodded, the happy grin he sported whenever he thought of the blonde beauty who had taken a chance on him blooming upon his lips._

" _She does. She'll be going to school in Connecticut," he confessed. Part of him had been worried that she would expect to break up after graduation, but they both had felt so strongly for each other in the short time they were together that he believed they would make it work. Sharon, as it turned out, was more than willing to try and do long distance. It would only be a short train ride away for both of them, she'd reasoned, and she could not see why they would have to let the miles stand between them, anyway. At the very least, they would try._

 _Holly sighed, tapping a finger on the papers. "Everybody's going away."_

" _Not everyone," Steve countered reasonably, the two teenagers breaking off to thank his mother for the plate of cookies she brought over for the both of them. When she stepped over to the living room and turned on the television, Steve pulled his attention from his mom back onto Holly. Picking up a cookie for himself, he pointed out, "Becca will still be here, and you can't say you won't see your brother since he's going to MCTC."_

" _It's not the same," Holly had retorted, shaking her head before fetching up a cookie. Picking at the edges, she conceded, "Yeah, Hank will be around, but…I'm just his dorky little sister. Heather's in high school and won't talk to me, Andy has been out in Colorado for awhile, Bucky's always just...off, and now you will be gone, too."_

 _All of what she'd said was true, and so Steve would not bother refuting it. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, munching on his cookie in silence for a few seconds. Before long, he was dipping his chin._

" _Our little group is growing up," he pronounced, a sad smile now gracing his lips. She nodded as well, but the forlorn set of her face didn't lessen. Letting a soft breath out through his nose, a corner of his mouth curled up, and he dared to reach over and chuck her under the chin. That earned him an eye roll, but it also got her to giggle, and he considered it a victory. Holly looked at him again, smiling now, though bitter-sweetly._

" _I guess." Lifting a shoulder, she mumbled, "Can't I be a little sad that you'll be gone?"_

 _Steve chewed his lip, raising his gaze to the ceiling and stroking his jaw in falsely intense thought. After a minute or two, he dared to nod._

" _I suppose." Fixing his gaze upon her, he chucked her chin again, and then tweaked her ear. As she grumbled and shoved his hand away, he supplied in a teasing tone. "Only a little, though."_

And she did miss him; he knew that in the few phone calls they exchanged, and the more-frequent emails that their little kids' group had formed in the cul-de-sac. Mostly they kept each other in the loop that way, the majority of them wishing him so much luck as graduation came and went, the move away imminent. Her hug farewell stuck with him, along with Sharon's and his mother's when both had to leave him at his dorm. (The blonde girl had also kissed him thoroughly before parting, but Sarah thankfully wasn't privy to that, as she had to secure a hotel room for herself for the night before returning to Minnesota the next day.) He had missed her, too...missed all the ones who were left behind states away.

Nearly three years had gone by since his acceptance, and his subsequent move to New York City. The hustle and thrum seemed to hit him broadside the moment he stepped off the airplane when he'd arrived for his orientation week, and while it was a little foreign, it did give him a sense of peace. He had been missing the liveliness such an environment inspired, and his fingers itched to get it all on paper, to paint it on canvas and keep the photograph of it in his mind forever. His roommate at the time was nice enough, but often left on weekends, so Steve spent much of his first year on his own and attempting to survive. He felt steady after a little while, his comfort taken in his classes and his artwork, both of which flourished.

Within a year, Bucky had moved out there, too. The engineering company he had done a bit of interning for a couple of years ago were looking for promising applicants, provided they completed a four-year degree. So long as it was an accredited university, and had a professor to act as a supervisor for them, they could attend wherever they wish. Bucky was one of their top choices, and Cooper Union was his. Pleased to have his best friend in the same city, the two fellows set about finding an apartment together. It was more akin to a shoe box than anything else, with stamp-sized bedrooms and the tiniest bathroom in existence, but it was home, with a couch stuffed into it that had more fluff in its cushions than was strictly necessary. It was also midway between their schools, and allowed them both to wander and immerse themselves in it all.

The trains, the crowds, the sights and smells...Steve still treasured all of that.

Still, after nearly three years, he did have tugs at his heart when he thought upon Minnesota. In his soul, Brooklyn and the small suburb he'd moved to at eight years old shared similar places, the cold of the snow recalling the storms that swirl around the Barnes house, his mother and him hunkering down with hot chocolate and waiting it out. The steam and heat of the sidewalks brought to mind the baking tar of the cul-de-sac, the driveway of the Martin house and a young brunette girl bouncing a basketball, offering to pass it to him.

It would be unlikely that basketball would be an option during the trip home for Christmas, but he was sure he could sneak over to the Martins at some point, say hello to them all and catch up. Maybe.

Soon enough, the plane was landing, Bucky jarred from his nap by the bing of the fasten seat belt light coming on and the dip out of the sky. Yawning, he stiffened in his seat beside Steve as the landing gear touched the tarmac, relief blooming in both of them as the plane taxied up to the entry. Gathering up their carry-ons, the two young men eventually made their way off the plane and out into the concourse. The taller man had his phone out, chattering to his mother as the pair scooped up their bags, but the call was soon dropped when Freddie and George Barnes appeared at the top of the escalator.

"Boys! Welcome home," Freddie called, smiling widely. The crow's feet by her eyes were a little more pronounced, her dark hair holding a few more silver threads, but she still exuded happiness and warmth as she scooped both young men into her embrace at the same time.

"Hey, Ma," Bucky half-groaned, the air being squeezed out of him by his mother's left arm. Steve withheld a snicker; being labeled as the frail, skinny guy did have its perks. At least he wasn't half bear hugged to death.

"Hi, Freddie," he said to her, nodding over to George as well. Glancing behind them both, he felt a swell of disappointment at the noted absence. Catching his look when he pulled out of her hug, Freddie patted his shoulder.

"Your mom got called in last night, so she was still sleeping when we left to pick you both up, Steve. I know she's anxious to see you, though, so..."

Pushing down the residual sadness, Steve gave her a wry smile. "She'll probably be parked in George's chair when we get back, then."

The older man adjusted his glasses, the the roll of his eyes behind them evident even as he struggled to hide a smirk.

"I keep telling her I'll go out and by her a chair of her own, but she always says no. Stubborn woman," he grunted, turning to his son and hugging him, too.

Bucky snorted, shooting Steve a look when he removed himself from his dad's arms. "Family trait, that explains it."

"Damn straight," the blond announced proudly, the other three chuckling before they all began to make for the exit. The blast of cold air hit them as they crossed from the main concourse to the parking, Freddie explaining what was going on with the Barnes brood that year. Becca was waiting at home, doing some last-minute wrapping before her favorite older brother arrived. Andy, now married and with a little baby boy of his own, lived in Colorado with his wife, their family going to hers for Christmas that year. It seemed as though no time had passed at all before they were pulling onto familiar streets, the drive over in a seeming heartbeat. The white-sided house had lights strung along the gutters and eves, an inflatable snowman perched in the front yard as George parked his SUV in the driveway. The blond young man risked a glance across the cul-de-sac, to the blue-sided house with the lights surrounding the garage and the lonely basketball hoop. Following the train of people inside, he found himself smiling brightly when he saw his mother. She was right where he predicted she would be: George's brown, overstuffed easy chair was like a second bed to Sarah, and she was cocooned in blankets as they strode in. Her tired blue eyes danced as she sighted her son, and she slowly got to her feet to greet him.

"Stevie, you made it."

"Mom," he crooned, dropping his bags and going straight to her. The sense of home settled over him as she held him close, her thin arms wrapping hard around him and squeezing him tightly. When he stepped back, she smiled fondly at him, ruffling his hair as she had done since he was young. Becca came barreling out of her room and down the stairs, almost throwing herself over the banister to hug Bucky. As they, and the rest of the house's occupants, sat back down in the living room, Sarah asked quietly after Sharon. True to their plan, she had gone to school in Connecticut while he had his Brooklyn adventure. Weekends were traded off to spend time either at his apartment or hers, each of them relishing the time they could spend together. In the last few months, though, the time spent was less and less, due to both of them accumulating more and more projects in pursuit of their degrees. She would, however, be coming up to New York to ring in the New Year with him, and he looked forward to it. (He certainly wouldn't begrudge her the time she wished to spend with her Aunt Peggy, now living in California with some tech genius guy she'd been seeing out there.)

As quiet settled for the moment, as the smell of baking wafted in and the Christmas tree in the corner glowed with lights, Freddie sat up straighter, seeming to remember something.

"The Martins are hosting the cul-de-sac party this year," she stated, glancing over at the two young men. They all shared a look; roughly ten years ago, the six houses linked to the circular patch of tar had decided—since they mostly liked each other, anyway—to trade off hosting a holiday party, cementing their neighborly contact. Usually it meant a good array of liquor for the adults and sugary treats for the kids, but it was sort of fun. Raising an eyebrow at Bucky and Steve, Freddie asked, "You boys interested?"

Bucky's easy grin creased his lips, especially when he spotted his sister crossing her fingers. "I wouldn't mind going."

Steve shrugged a shoulder, pretending nonchalance. "Eh, we could stop by for a few minutes."

That decided, Steve went to the downstairs apartment with his mother, the pair of them sharing in hugs of their own and her own questions as she snagged a package of cookies to split. As he told her about his feelings on his most recent set of finals, of the guys in his department squaring off against the girls in a campus snowball fight, and Bucky still refusing to wash dishes (he openly despised the chore, and it was like pulling teeth to get him to do it), mother and son separated to their rooms, each intent on getting a little more sleep before heading over to the Martin house.

Darkness had fallen, along with a light dusting of snow, when the Barnes brood and the Rogers clan made their way over to the blue-sided house. The swirl and soft playing of holiday music grew as the door opened, Lisa Martin ushering them all in from the cold. The older woman also had some gray streaking through her blonde waves, and her laugh lines were better defined, a joke tumbling out as she guided them to take off their coats and help themselves to the buffet. As he shrugged his off, Steve looked around the entry and towards the kitchen. Hank was there, a redheaded girl he'd never seen before on his arm. Heather, too, was picking at the buffet, their dad sneaking a chip off her plate as he followed next to her. Deciding that he could really do with some food, Steve went for it, meatballs and chicken wings accompanied by potatoes and even a couple of cookies. Grabbing a cup of punch, he managed hellos as he went, chatting to several of the neighbors as he found his way down to the family room in the split-level. Bucky came down a couple minutes after him, nearly inhaling his food as he sat beside him on the couch. Little conversation passed, the pair contented to let the flow of others' voices and music enfold them.

It wasn't long, though, before another set of feet pounded down the stairs, a joyful gasp echoing out.

"Steve!" crowed a familiar feminine voice, and his head came up then. A smile came unbidden to his lips, and the smaller man set his plate to the side and got to his feet.

"Holly!" he cried back, opening his arms and accepting her embrace as she veritably ran to him. Another flush of warmth spread through him, but he was taken aback by what he was seeing when she pulled away.

In nearly three years, Holly had grown a bit, but it seemed she had blossomed in her junior year. She was now taller than him, though only by a few inches. Gone were the braces of her early teens, her straightened smile seeming to glow. As well as that, some of the baby pudge had fallen from her, the curves of a woman shaping her out. Somewhere deep within, Steve felt something flutter and stutter, but it was flattened and ignored as she sat down beside him, patting his shoulder with great enthusiasm.

"It's so good to see you," she told him, her smiling widening a bit further. She greeted Bucky as well, leaning a little over Steve and brushing against his arm as she patted the brunet fella's shoulder. To the blond, she chided in a teasing tone, "I know you'd said you and Bucky would be back today, but I thought you might be too tired to come over."

Shrugging, he dared to shoot her a cheeky grin.

"Nah. Couldn't pass up the chance for some free food."

"Of course not," she retorted, smirking even as she rolled her eyes. Unbeknownst to them, Bucky's bright eyes flicked over them as they chuckled together, noting how well they got on after weeks and months of not being in company. Shaking his head, he ate silently as she dared to ask them both, "Tell me all about finals. You think you got murdered?"

"Hardly likely, since I'm here," Steve responded first, around a bite of chicken. Bucky grunted something unintelligible under his breath, though it did seem to contain the words _awful_ and _dear God_. Holly snorted audibly at their reactions, confessing that her own final projects for school had certainly drained her. She was just more than a little jealous of the fact that their winter breaks were for around a month, while hers would end the day after New Year's. Commiserating on the terrible reality of high school, the conversation turned to other topics.

Real smiles and laughs were shared all around, their collective siblings filtering in and out of the conversation as well. As Bucky and Steve began to go back-and-forth on the dishes issue once again, Bucky's attention suddenly narrowed on a point on the other side of the room near the stairs.

"Who's the guy, Holl?" he asked, jerking his chin up. Following his gaze, Steve quirked up a brow. Some kid he didn't recognize was talking to Becca, the two chuckling at something she was saying. He had been at the party the whole time, he knew, but he hadn't really paid him any mind. Despite the distance between the two teenagers being respectful, something about his stance was off-putting to the blond man. Stubble graced the boy's jaw, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners and a hand brushed through his cropped brown hair. He stood tall, confidence radiating through him even as he affected a bashful look. He glanced over at those on the couch, but his gaze focused on the brunette to Steve's left. A creeping feeling crawled up Steve's spine as he looked over at Holly, a blush decorating her cheeks as she grinned and bit her lip.

"Oh, uh, that's Grant. Grant Ward. He is a senior, and...he's my boyfriend."

At her words, Steve's eyes widened almost comically, though he wasn't laughing. Holly had a boyfriend? When did that happen? She never mentioned anything over the phone the last time they'd talked...

 _'And is it your business to know, anyway?'_ his brain snapped at him, just as Bucky let out a scoffing laugh.

"Boyfriend?" Bucky crooned, spiking an eyebrow. Beside him, Steve had stiffened, but neither were paying attention to his posture. As the young blond man realized how he was sitting and thus forced himself to relax, Bucky continued, "You're too young for one of those."

"I already get this from Hank, Bucky," Holly groused, rolling her eyes. "Don't even start. Keep your concern for Becca."

The older fellow snorted, shaking his head. "Why should I? She's not dating anyone."

"That you know of," she muttered low, idly taking a sip of the pop she had in hand. Bucky's bright eyes glared dangerously at her.

"Excuse me?" he nearly growled, but she affected ignorance, twining a bit of her hair around her fingers as she brushed off his concern. Now thoroughly distracted by the idea, Bucky mumbled something about chatting with his sister, and he rose from the couch, all ready to act the part of older brother now that they were in the same state again. Left to their own devices, Steve grabbed his cup of punch, taking a drink as Holly looked over at Grant again. Her gaze had softened, and the grin she sported paired well with the blush blooming along her cheeks.

"So he's really your boyfriend?" he asked when he lowered his cup, the corner of his mouth curve when she looked back at him.

"Yeah," she responded, her happy nod somehow making his smile grow for her. Taking another sip, he cleared his throat.

"Is it...is everything going alright?" he wondered. Maybe the vibe he was getting was just him being concerned for her, as ever. After all, if they were okay, why should he worry?

 _'Why not?'_ his brain kicked back, but he ignored it as she tucked some of her hair behind her ear, the blush making her glow in the lights of the nearby Christmas tree.

"He's been so sweet, and...it's so great, so far," she told him, too eager to share the good news with someone. Steve's grin gentled, and he inclined his head at her, glad to hear that she was, at least, happy. Opening his mouth to change the subject, he was alerted to movement coming up alongside him. Looking up, he was a little surprised to see Grant there, all the taller as he loomed over the shorter, seated man. Brown eyes slid over Steve, the look in them almost calculating before he glanced to Holly. For her, the gaze softened, and he reached out for her.

"Hey, pretty girl," he murmured, pulling her in close and looping his arms around her waist when she eagerly stood to hug him. Nodding to Steve, he asked pleasantly, "Who's the guy who's been keeping you all to himself?"

He gave a playful wink at that, but the blond man could only just manage a grin. Holly patted Ward's arm, smiling back at her old friend.

"Grant, this is my friend, Steve. He's home from school in Brooklyn."

Recognition seemed to click in Grant's face, and he nodded. "Ah, Big City Boy. I can dig that."

Steve's weak grin remained, though he ducked his head for a moment. "Thanks, I guess."

A couple of seconds of silence passed, and then Holly was raising herself onto her toes.

"I'm gonna grab some more food," she said, giving Grant a light kiss on the lips before pulling away. When he tugged on her hands, playfully trying to pull her back in again, she giggled, and Steve picked at the food on his plate when she was drawn in for another kiss. In a hushed voice, she teasingly admonished Grant, "I'll be right back."

Finally, Grant let her go, but not without another peck on her temple. Once she was up the stairs and on her way to the kitchen, he let out a low breath, glance back at Steve and shrugging. Loping to the seat Holly had abandoned, he flopped into it, reclining and propping one foot up on the old coffee table in front of them. Steve unconsciously moved over an inch or two, taking another bite of some chips on his plate as the pair of fellows sat in the silence Holly had left them in. Soon enough, though, Grant was clearing his throat, flapping a hand at Steve.

"So, Holly's told me a lot about you. A lot," he stated, an almost wary set coming to his eyes as he looked at Steve. When the blond man merely furrowed his brow, Grant let out a strained snicker, casually leaning back in his chair and shrugging. "Almost got a little jealous here and there, ha ha."

The forced laugh did nothing to assuage Steve's sudden edginess, though he managed a grin of his own.

"Well, we have known each other for a long time," he replied, brushing a hand through the air as if it were no big deal. And it wasn't, not at that moment; given how many years they'd known one another, Holly was bound to have a good deal to say about Steve. After all, he'd had a good deal to say about her himself in the past. "We've got a lot of stories."

"A lot of history..." Grant murmured, the sentence hanging in the air between them. The implication of it, something Steve could read all too well, could not be brushed aside as he took in a big bite of a meatball. Rather, Grant leaned forward again, elbows on his knees and his hand linked in front of him. "Anything you care to share on that? I mean, besides what she's told me?"

Steve's bright gaze narrowed. "What do you mean?"

The teenager beside him pretended at nonchalance, shrugging and tilting his head to the right.

"Oh, just...anything happen between you two? I know, probably can't really talk about it right now because of the age difference, but—"

"No," the blond fellow cut him off, fire burning in his face and in his veins. Despite the closeness he'd had with Holly, he had never pursued her in the fashion that Ward was implying. She was his neighbor, his friend from childhood...and then Sharon...he felt something like guilt twist in his stomach as he though upon her, and he straightened up in his seat.

Even if he were interested in Holly in that way—which he was _not_ —he was dating Sharon. He loved her, and would never hurt her. He wasn't built for betrayal.

Grant's eyebrows rose, and he snorted as he hooked a thumb in the direction Holly had gone. "Seriously? You lived across the street from that, and didn't do anything about it? Huh."

"She's barely seventeen. And we're just friends," Steve ground out, annoyance filling him now. Hoping that would stop the conversation in its tracks, he was disappointed when the brunet fellow beside him clicked his tongue.

"Ah, too 'little sister' for you, huh? I get that," Grant replied an eyebrow rising slightly. Flicking his darkening gaze over to Holly (who was at the top of the stairs, chatting to someone neither of them could see) and back to Steve, he intoned, "Well, not _little_ sister; not exactly the biggest guy around are you?" The jab landed, but Steve had no time to respond as Ward leaned back in his seat again, hands folding behind his head as he appraised the girl at the stairs. "Still, she's definitely no little sister to me. No, sir."

Steve felt even more uncomfortable, shifting awkwardly in his seat and staring ahead now. He missed the sly gleam coming into Grant's eyes, the lilt of his grin as he saw the smaller man's jaw begin to tense. It was a little payback, and he relished it; after all, Holly did have quite a few stories about this blond imp, stories told with fondness and something deeper than she was even aware of. He was tired of hearing about Steve standing up to bullies, of his achievements in art, and how they had played basketball together when the others went to do their own things.

He was definitely okay with making the little guy sweat and burn for a time.

"I mean, she is sweet and all, but...damn, look at her," he murmured, voice lowering still. His eyes turned onto the young woman in question, and he caught the turn of Steve's head towards her as well. Running his gaze over her figure, he let out a soft snort. "Once she got the braces off and lost a couple pounds, hoo boy."

"Probably want to keep your voice down, bud," Steven warned then, his baritone taking a hard edge as he spoke. He was edging closer to anger with every word the punk next to him uttered, the disrespect being paid to one of his oldest friends grating on him. Grant held up his hands in mock surrender, a lazy grin coming to his lips.

"Not like I'm about to announce that to her dad and her brother when they're in the same room. But you're cool, don't have to worry too much about you."

Another dig, and it burrowed under the smaller blond's skin. Grabbing up his cup of punch, Steve swallowed down a good portion of it, hoping it would cool him off enough to get his control back.

"How long have you been dating?" he asked, the cup now empty. Grant shrugged a shoulder, deciding that he was done toying with the skinny fella.

"A few weeks. Been trying to go after her for a couple months, and now we're getting somewhere," he said, the curve of his grin making Steve's nerves light again. Before he could pursue the line of inquiry blooming in his mind, Grant looked over at him, wondering, "What about you? Heard you had a girlfriend yourself."

"I do," Steve told him, another flicker of guilt flushing through him as Sharon came to his mind. He'd called her before going over to the party, but it hadn't been a long conversation. He definitely needed to get in touch with her before going to bed. To Grant, he merely murmured, "She's with her aunt for Christmas."

The conversation devolved into meaningless prattle, plans for the next few days touched upon as Holly finally came back, a plate loaded with goodies in her hand. As she slid into Grant's lap, Steve focused across the room to where the television was, the screen alight with the Yule Log channel as Hank fired it up. The two teenagers engaged in their own banter, Holly holding up a bit of sugar cookie for Grant to eat, to which he got his bite and then boldly kissed her neck. The awkwardness returned, and Steve found himself praying for it to end soon.

Holly's brother and sister came over to talk as well, the pair of them sharing looks as they glanced over Grant (Steve caught Heather shaking her head, but she only smiled wanly at him). Becca and Bucky filled out their troupe, all the others speaking and filling in the contemplative silence Steve found himself swimming in. Before long, the party started to wind down, neighbors beginning to head home as the clock ticked later and later. George and Freddie, along with his mother, had gone home around eight o'clock, and he forced himself to stick it out for another half hour.

Soon enough, though, he could no longer stand it. As the others had more as less dispersed by that point, he easily picked his way back upstairs, fetching his heavy coat and boots from the closet, shrugging all on and sighing.

"Steve, you're heading out?" he heard Holly say, and he looked up as she came up the stair, fingers laced with Grant's. Smiling wearily, he nodded.

"Yeah, got some stuff to take care of at home," he told her, blue eyes glancing over Ward before he cleared his throat and tipped his chin. "Hey, you mind grabbing Buck and Becca for me? I think all our parents probably want us home."

Holly blinked, shrugging a shoulder. "Uh, sure."

She leaned up, placing a peck on Grant's cheek before she went back down the stairs, the brunet boy blatantly watching her go with a smirk. Looking back at Steve, and the unamused expression on his face, he stepped forward and offered his hand.

"It's been—"

"I'm only gonna say this once, and I'm gonna say it fast, so pay attention," Steve spoke over him, his voice lowered so that no one else could hear him. The set of his blue eyes spoke of menace, and his jaw was tight, startling Ward into silence as he went on. "You hurt her, in any way, I'm gonna make you wish you only get a beating from her brother, got it?"

Grant's shock wore off after a couple of seconds, his own dark gaze narrowing deviously and a snort erupting from him.

"Yeah, nothing happened."

"Nothing _did_ ," Steve emphasized, glaring at him outright. The guy was such a tool, he lamented inwardly, but this was the most he could do. If Holly insisted on dating him, then so be it. Grant would just have to know the score, not just for her family, but for him as well. "And if you're smart, you better damn well make sure that nothing does. Because I might not be the biggest fella around, but I'll still clean your clock if you mistreat her. Got that, buddy?"

Scant seconds passed in which the two men assessed one another, but it was the taller, bigger one who looked away first, dipping his chin in compliance.

"Got it, Rogers," Ward conceded, tucking his hands in his pockets. Rogers nodded as well, stepping back and zipping up his coat.

"Good."

At that point, Becca and Bucky came up the stairs, the Barnes siblings a little nonplussed about the summons but nonetheless going along with it. With the Martin adults wishing them a good night, it fell upon the children to hug and handshake farewell. Steve accepted the warm shake/hug combination he got from Hank and the hug from Heather, and then Holly's turn came.

"Wish you didn't have to go so early," she muttered a little mulishly, and he couldn't help but chuckle when he let her go.

"Duty calls," he joked, the fib out and away without any trouble. Risking a fast glance over her shoulder, to where Grant was leaning against the wall and tipping his head to stare at the ceiling, he told her, "Take care of yourself, okay?"

Holly's smile wavered, and she peered at him curiously. Steve could only shrug a shoulder at it.

"Just sayin', that's all."

"Okay, I will," she promised, a smirk decorating her lips as she teased, "you, too."

Ward came up again, his arm slung around Holly's shoulders and drawing her into his side, his farewell grin looking more akin to a shit-eating one. Becca and Bucky shared a look as they went with Steve out the door, the last good-nights passed as they ventured out into the cold to go home. Becca jogged ahead of them to get the door opened, as it appeared that George and Freddie had locked up for the night, but the boys walked slower. Snow and ice crunched underfoot as they went, the grind of it filling the night air. Bucky let out a soft breath, and then cleared his throat.

"You really don't like that Grant guy, do you?" he asked his best friend, glancing down at Steve. The smaller man raised his chin, staring straight ahead as he kept walking.

"It doesn't matter if I do," he replied, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets. It didn't matter it was Holly's choice. And he was her friend, one who would support her in her choices. Even if he thought that her current choice of boyfriend was...less than great at that moment. (It was the kindest sentiment he had in his mind, but he was not going to expound upon it, consciously or otherwise.)

Barnes could only hum under his breath as he walked alongside him, and Steve rolled his eyes.

"Buck, don't."

"I didn't say anything," the taller fellow responded, the innocence in his voice unconvincing. He had his opinions about Grant Ward, and they were no more charitable than Steve's, he surmised. However, his blond friend had summed it up the best: whether or not they liked him was not their problem.

Especially since Holly seemed happy enough, and Steve had his own girl.

"Merry Christmas, huh?" Bucky muttered as they met Becca by the door, her triumphant crow at getting the stubborn lock to yield joining his own teasing one. Steve followed them both inside, canting his head and letting the warmth of the home envelope him, his equilibrium returning bit by bit.

 **xXxXxXx**

The holiday itself had passed well enough, with Grant Ward not making an appearance in the cul-de-sac at any point between Christmas Eve and Steve and Bucky's departure on the twenty-eighth. Christmas passed peacefully enough, with the Barnes and the Rogers family attending their church, waving at the Martins as they quickly headed to their own congregation on the day. Steve was lucky enough to received a compact easel from his mother, and a new set of charcoal pencils from Freddie and George, smaller goodies in his stocking and from Bucky and Becca. There was hardly any chance to even speak with any of the Martins before they had left again, though he did manage to catch Holly when she went to the mailbox one afternoon. Discussing New Year's Eve was inevitable, and he had learned, as he fetched up the mail for his mother, that she would be with Grant, staying up until midnight with him. Uneasiness fluttered through him, but Steve only chalked it up to worrying for her. No less than what her brother would do, he supposed, wishing her to have fun.

Before either he or Bucky knew it, they were on a plane back to Brooklyn, the Minnesota holiday another memory stored for their lives.

As had been planned, Sharon had arrived in the late afternoon on New Year's Eve, hugging Steve warmly and kissing him solidly as he brought her up to the apartment. Together, they got themselves dressed and ready for a party held at the bar down the street, joined by Bucky and the girl he was seeing currently (auburn hair, legs for days, and calling herself Dot). A few drinks were indulged in, with Steve and Sharon happily chatting about the turn their finals had taken and the grades already entered by their professors while Bucky and Dot had found their way to the dance floor, bodies moving and grinding in a way that left little to the imagination. Surmising that his best friend would likely not be home for the night, Steve took Sharon's hand, leading her back to the apartment just before midnight they would have to themselves. The night was theirs, the new year was arriving soon, and they were young; he was determined to make the most of it.

Which they had, Sharon's warmth encompassing him and his heat filling her as they joined, the fated hour passing before either of them were aware of it. Once they were finished, though, sleep eluded Steve, and he groaned inwardly as his girlfriend fell into an easy slumber. Getting his breath back had been something he always had to take care to do, and that was done. Now, it seemed, he was to suffer insomnia for it. It wasn't terribly uncommon for him, and he had learned how to deal with it over the years. Carefully getting out of bed and pulling on boxers and his loose-fitting sweatpants, he made his way into the dark to the living room, his cell phone in hand (a little old, a little battered, but a good device he was gifted upon graduation so he could call his mother as he promised. So he could call everyone he wished when he left Minnesota, certain others included). Flicking the television on, he watched as an old western film ended and the late night infomercials started, chuckling tiredly as the guy on the screen was so desperate and eager to sell the amazing absorbing towel in his hand.

Just as the towel had a full cup of juice poured on it, the phone in Steve's pocket began to ring, and he swore under his breath as he struggled to get it out.

"Hello?" he grumbled when he answered it finally, scrubbing at his eyes and turning away from the television set. It better not have been Bucky, he mused, asking him to make a condom run for him and Dot, or he would—

"Steve...can you talk?" Holly's voice came in from the other end, hushed as it was. He blinked rapidly sitting up stiffly when he heard her take in a sharp breath. Another sniff came, sounding suspiciously close to a sob, but her tone only wavered a little when she continued, "I just...I need someone to talk to, and—"

"I can talk. Tell me what's wrong," he told her, leaning forward and bracing an arm on his leg. Out of all people, he had not expect a call from her at that hour. Holly liked sleep too much to interrupt it unnecessarily, even on New Year's. A sinking feeling raced through his gut as her silence persisted, and he gentled his tone even further. "C'mon, sweetheart, what is it?"

The endearment was out and gone before either could think to acknowledge it, fading as Holly tried to get her breath back and Steve waiting for her to say something.

She took in another sharp breath, and her voice cracked as she told him what had happened. As she had planned, she had gone to Grant's house for the New Year. His step-dad and his mom were out for the beginning of the evening, and she had joined him and a few of his friends for the party he'd been setting up. That went okay, though a good portion of them were jocks in his class and she didn't know them all that well. It was after, when the friends went home and his parents came back, leaving them on their own, when things started to go south. She hadn't thought much of it, just that she would be sleeping over and maybe just making out with him, but Grant began to get more and more...aggressive, as the night wore on.

Steve clenched his jaw as he heard the sadness creep through her voice, and his free hand balled into a fist as she took a shuddering breath.

"When, when he started to...to touch...I just wasn't...I couldn't," she confessed, sounding smaller than she ever had before. Steve felt his stomach churn and an ache pinch in his chest as she went quiet. He wasn't sure what to say, but soon enough Holly broke her silence and continued, "I told him I wasn't ready, and he looked really upset."

A sudden bolt of fear—fear for her—spiked through him, and Steve felt the cold chill him internally.

"He didn't...?" he tried to ask, resolving that if Grant Ward had, then he would hop the first plane and help Hank beat the living tar out of the little weasel.

"No!" Holly crowed then, sounding stronger in that moment than she had before. Sighing softly, she haltingly explained, "No, he just...told me if I couldn't, then he couldn't, either. That it had been long enough, and if I wasn't ready to, to...have sex with him then, then he didn't want to bother wasting time." The brief relief flooding through Steve was replaced by indignation on her behalf as she scoffed humorlessly. "Dumped me, and then his mom drove me home. He woke her up to do it, since he refused to."

"What a dick," tumbled out of Steve's mouth before he could stop himself, and he immediately bit his lip after. It probably wasn't a good thing to insult the guy to Holly at that moment, and felt a twinge of awkwardness flood him. However, her chuckle, meager and sad as it was, followed his words, cutting off his apology before he even had a chance to form it.

"On that, his mother and I agreed." He mentally pictured Holly shrugging then, and her tone flattened. "She promised she would knock some sense into him, but...it's too late for that, I think. He's gonna be a douche forever. But, even knowing that, I..."

She trailed off then, and sympathy filled Steve then.

"You liked him." It wasn't a question, but Steve knew she would answer his statement. And, as he predicted, she did just that.

"I did, I do. Just a little bit," she said, sounding so lost and confused, mixing with the sorrow she'd expressed before. Sighing again, she mumbled, "He was sweet, and seemed to get me. I guess...I just didn't see it. Didn't see who he really was before."

Steve's free hand combed back through his hair, pushing the flop out of his eyes.

"Not everybody is as transparent as we wish," he told her, unsure of what he could really say. He'd dealt with his share of two-faced people, but he'd never been used in the way she had almost been. Smirking sadly at thin air, he murmured, "People can't always be as honest as you are."

"You mean blunt?" she replied, snorting softly. The grin on his lips turned genuine, and he lifted a shoulder.

"Well, kinda."

It was quiet for a second or two, and then Holly muttered, "I don't know. Maybe I should have—"

"No, you did the right thing," he assured her, not wanting her to get down on herself for her choices. Keeping his tone firm, he said, "Forcing yourself to...it would have made things worse. If you're not ready, then you're not ready."

A low hum followed, and he bit his lip, trying to think of what else he could tell her, to try and make her feel better. Stumbling upon something, he ventured it aloud.

"You are good, Holl. And it may hurt, but you did the right thing," he declared, leaning back into the couch cushions. Picking at the seam of his sweats with a free hand, he blurted, "He's an idiot. Most of us guys are, but some are more than others."

That got her to laugh, less sadness in it that time, and it made the tightness in his gut start to wane.

"I guess," she replied. "You aren't."

"Debatable," he retorted. Letting the giggles on her end peter off, he sighed and wondered, "You feeling any better?"

"A little," she told him. He knew the process for her to collect the broken pieces of her relationship was just beginning, but he hoped she would not be mired in sorrow and disappointment for too long. Not over that guy. A yawn poured out of her then, and he heard shifting on her end of the line. Likely she had taken the cordless phone up to her room, as was her habit whenever she called him. "I should probably go to bed. It's so late, and you need to sleep, too."

Steve's gaze flicked to the clock on the far wall, the shadowed hands displaying the time as being just past two o'clock in the morning. Though he'd felt wired earlier, he could feel his body starting to relax. Not true insomnia then he was just too restless to fall asleep earlier. Suppressing his own yawn, he shook his head.

"I'd stay up if you needed."

"No, I'll, I'll get some sleep."

Her counter had the edge of hurt in it again, and he wished he could reach through the phone and comfort her, the memory of the last time a boy really broke her heart coming to mind. He couldn't be there for her physically, but at least he was able to help in some way.

"Things will look better in the morning," he promised, and she exhaled slowly.

"I hope so. Thank you, Steve," she said, heartfelt sincerity in her voice making his grin return briefly.

"You're welcome, Holly. Happy New Year."

"Happy New Year. Good night," Holly murmured, the click of the call cutting off greeting his ear. Pulling his own phone away, he thumbed the off button himself, blowing a breath out his mouth. He truly hoped she would be okay in the morning.

"Steve, baby?" came another, familiar female voice, that time from the opened door to his bedroom. Looking over, he saw Sharon there, a tired grin on her lips and her gold hair askew. It had not change much in sleep, he noted, feeling his blood rush as he took in the sight of her wrapped in his top sheet. Combing a hand through her locks, she nodded at the television before tipping her head back toward the darkened room. "You coming to bed now?"

Letting out another sigh, Steve dipped his chin, powering down his phone and standing.

"Yeah, Share, I'm coming," he murmured, turning off the television and crossing over to her, the lights of the city beyond silhouetting them as they got into the bed. She laid her head on his chest, heard the beat of his heart as he felt himself being lulled to sleep, his mind calm and quiet.

* * *

 **A/N:** Another bit of a time jump, and we're edging closer toward that romance for these two.

Holly has her first boyfriend, and Steve gets to meet him. True, he's only around for what seems like a minute, but then, not everybody has long-lasting relationships in high school. Anyone surprised by the fact that it was Grant Ward? Brett Dalton is a handsome fellow, despite his tendency to play that evil, charming character.

Just so you all know, I finished _Down the Hall_ , and have started work on another AU for Steve and Holly. It is called _Heart and Service_ , and takes place in a Renaissance-esque world. Check it out if you feel so inclined.

I will, as ever, try to update this before another month is out. We will see how it goes.

I own nothing from the MCU, nor do I own any other pop culture references made in the text (Marvel comics, Sham-wow, etc.).

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!


	6. Chapter 6

The summer heat sweltered around Steve Rogers, but his attention was otherwise focused. He had a project deadline to meet, and he was determined to finish it that afternoon.

After graduating from the college, he had managed to procure an internship at a design firm within Brooklyn. The boss was something of a hard-ass, but with his grades and his talent to back him up, it had led to an offer only weeks after Steve had gotten his diploma. Granted, his concentration ran towards comic art, but he did like to play with designs for potential brochures and posters for numerous acts and events, and had a decent number in his portfolio to supplement his education. As well as that, he figured it would be a good opportunity to build up some money and experience to eventually get a future job with a comic company (the dream of dreams, Bucky had often teased while still sporting a proudly-raised chin for his friend). Thus it was that Steve not only completed his degree in the city he'd long desired to live in, he also had attained work to stay for longer after.

It meant that, from that point on, his trips back to Minnesota were curbed even more so than they had been during college. Instead of classes keeping him back, it was projects and design jags and commitments that could not be wiggled out of. It was fortunate, then, that he had built his own social media page it allowed him to keep in touch with those left in the Midwest. Not that it negated the actual phone calls he would make and get back, though.

Bucky, after completing his own degree, had returned to Minnesota to take the higher position that had been promised to him by the firm. He already had had a hand in a few important projects for the city of St. Paul, and his designs showed so much promise that he was on track for assisting in the layout of a new apartment building in the heart of downtown Minneapolis. Still, he made the time to call in, reporting what he knew was left off of the Internet. t allowed him to keep tabs on others: he had learned of Andy Barnes' newest promotion that way, as well as about Heather Martin's engagement to one of the guys she had gone to school with. It was also how he maintained contact with Holly Martin, through her graduation from high school and her own college attendance, little pictures and jokes exchanged that way along with the phone calls and texts over the months. Their friendship had strengthened despite the distance, and despite their commitments to other things in their lives.

Sharon, after graduating early with her degree in criminal justice, had moved in with Steve and Bucky, the lease going to her and Steve after the older man went back to Minnesota. It was their little home, touched with her picture frames and kitschy decorations sent on by her great aunt, joining with Steve's sketches and paintings on the walls. She found work as a technician with one of the precincts, off at odd hours and running herself ragged trying to get things accrued for an eventual master's degree. For a time, they were blissful and happy, and that was enough.

It was the way of Steve's life, and there was little that could shake it those days.

His private musings were interrupted by the clattering ring of his cell phone, the corner of his mouth quirking as he looked down at the caller ID. Thumbing the button to answer the call, he raised the device to his ear.

"Hey, Ma," he greeted his mother, his grin growing as she replied. Getting up to walk around the apartment and stretch his legs, he wandered into the kitchen just as Sharon was withdrawing a can of soda. She had snagged a rare afternoon off, and had been enjoying it by catching up on some television shows she'd missed out on over the last few months. Sharing a nod with his girlfriend, Steve continued, "How are...my birthday?"

He stalled then, his brow furrowing. Sharon spiked an eyebrow silently at that; her boyfriend's expression had turned so fast that it even had her reeling.

"I, I thought I would..." the blond fellow responded eventually, quieting as the voice on the other end asked him a question. Glancing at the shared calendar on the wall (doctor's appointments scribbled along with Sharon's work schedule), he coughed. "Uh, yeah. I can swing a week back to Minnesota. Sure."

That truly got her attention, annoyance creeping into Sharon's irises as Steve began to chew on his lip, listening as his mother continued speaking. Within a few minutes, the call was over, good-byes bid and the young man inhaling deeply.

"Was that your mom?" she asked him, softening her tone as she wondered what was going on.

"Yep. She was wondering if I would be coming home for my birthday this year," he replied, glancing at the calendar again and shaking his head. Taking another breath, he looked back his girlfriend, worry lacing through his face. "She really sounded...strange."

Sharon leaned against one of the counters, taking another sip of her soda. Steve did have concern for his mother, naturally, given their distance from one another and being one another's last living family (both were only children of only children, and his grandparents had passed away years ago; his dad's family was all but unknown to him as well), but whatever was said in that exchange had him on edge. Personally, she could understand that; her Aunt Peggy was living in London again, now fully retired and enjoying that retirement, while her parents had scampered off to some other part of the world long ago. Still, to see him react in such a way made her wary.

"Hmm," she breathed back, stepping forward and curling her arm around his shoulders. Pulling him into her embrace, he woodenly looped his arms around her. The pit of her stomach pinched, and she only let out a soft breath when he stepped back, his bright irises meeting hers.

"Want to come along, Share?"

Her dark gaze went to the calendar then, noting the march of her handwriting across the individual days, and sighed again.

"I really only have the day of the holiday off. I can't swing it this time," she crooned, guilt outlining her features. The last few times he had asked her to go back with him, she'd been unable to, her job taking up so much of her time. However, she knew that she had to put in that time if she wanted to succeed; going back to Minnesota, where she had only spent two years of her life, was hardly worth it, in her estimation. Gently, she cupped his cheek, her thumb brushing as she bent and kissed his forehead. "You go, have fun, and we'll celebrate when you get back."

Steve attempted to smile back at her, but it dropped when she removed herself from his embrace. The hollow feeling in his gut did not abate as he returned to the spare room, the drafting table staring back at him as he thought about the call. His mom really had sounded off, like her normal soft sweetness carried an edge to it. And she was adamant that he should come home for his birthday, which also happened to be the nearest holiday. However, she'd disconnected the call before he could form any questions in his mind, and he knew her well enough to know that she would unlikely wish to speak about what was bothering her after she'd left the conversation where it was.

The sense of unease Steve remained through the next week, the nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach not fully vanishing even as he made his way to the concourse on July 3rd. The combined humidity with the heat of Minnesota pressed in on them when he disembarked into the international airport, pushing in on all sides even when Bucky tracked him down and brought him out to the waiting car. His best friend smiled at him, almost too brightly, his speech hardy slowing as he jumped from one topic to the next, the local football club's stats followed by the likelihood of the Twins getting it together and making a decent show of playing that year (not that Steve really liked them; he preferred the Dodgers, even if they were from Los Angeles) hitting his ears.

It was only a short while before Bucky directed his car to the familiar cul-de-sac, parking in the driveway and letting the engine tick through its cooldown. Steve got out of the car, but he caught the look his friend was directing at him as he grabbed out his suitcase. Bristling, he was about to ask what the problem was when the front door creaked open, and he turned to face the person coming out of the house.

And his jaw almost dropped at the sight of his mother.

Sarah Rogers had never been a large woman, but she looked so thin, wispy even. Her blonde hair had lost bit of its luster, and the tiredness in her eyes had gone to full exhaustion. The bones in her cheeks were sharper than they ever had been, her skin paler, too. Steve had never seen her look that ill, not even the year when they both wound up with a raging flu at the same time when he was eleven. The tension in him tightened, his gut telling him that this was what he was waiting for, this was the thing that seemed off, but he couldn't give voice to it.

"Steven, I'm so glad you're home," she said, her voice sound tight to his ears.

"Me, too," he breathed, eyes widening with each passing second. Even with video chatting over the Internet, it still took him aback how much she had changed. Instead, he cleared his throat multiple time before trying again. "Mom, you look..."

He trailed off when her wan smile fell, her head shaking sadly.

"We have to talk, sweetheart."

Thin fingers curled around his arm, Sarah leading him around the house to the back entrance to the downstairs apartment, Bucky's sad gaze following them until they had vanished from sight.

The clocked ticked on the wall, marking the few minutes it took for them to enter the basement apartment (a little worn around the edges, but still cozy and warm, like he remembered), set his bag down, and have Sarah lead him to the couch in the living room. Her explanation reverberated around him, the sick slide in her gut making it plummet as she announced what was going on.

It took several more ticks of the clock before he could find his tongue again.

"Kidney disease," he uttered finally, pronouncing the illness that had its hooks in his mother with barely a flinch. Sarah nodded arms curling around herself as she let out a low breath.

"Yes. I do fall into the age group, and, well, it explains the weight loss and the fatigue," she said, gesturing flatly to herself. The corner of her mouth curled up, and then fell away. "Among other things."

Steve sat there for several minutes, trying to wrap his head around what his mother had told him. Her kidneys were failing, making her sicker with each passing year, and only at her last physical for work did the doctors catch it. It was entirely bizarre, and wrong, that his mom should be sick. She was never ill, save for colds and flus. He was the sick one, he was the one who was marked since birth for those things. Not her, never her.

But that no longer was true. It was her, and it was more than anything they had dealt with before.

Taking in a deep breath, he met her eyeline again. "What can be done to treat it?"

Sarah leaned back against the sofa cushion, fingers now fidgeting in her lap.

"For now, dialysis. Changing my diet at home, having a few supplements and medications on top of it all. Maybe one day a transplant, if it worsens." She hated going, hated that she would need to tell her son what could happen, but she knew him. She knew that if he sensed she was holding back, he would look things up for himself, and she didn't want him to be horrified by what she'd kept from him. "Possibly full renal failure. This could...this could be fatal, though Doctor Coulson thinks I have a good chance of surviving with this."

By that point, Steve was staring at his knees, blue eyes narrowed on the hands clenched there. Carefully, she reached out, taking one hand between both of her, rubbing as soothingly as possible. He looked up at her again, dumbfounded by the comfort she was offering him. He felt awful; he should have been the one to do so for her, and he chastised himself for it even weeks after that fateful afternoon.

"I'm so sorry, Stevie," she whispered, pure sadness invading her tone. "I hate having to tell you even now; it's your birthday."

"My birthday is tomorrow," he retorted, attempting to smile and push away her sorrows for even a second. It barely worked, and so he shook his head, turning his palm to take her hand in his. "Don't apologize; you have nothing to apologize for."

Another minute or two went by, mother and son sitting in silence with heaviness weighing them down.

"When do you start treatment?" he inquired slowly, and she blinked at him, clearing her throat.

"My first appointment at the hospital is next week."

Steve dipped his chin, his blue eyes fixing on a point in the distance.

"I will probably need a couple of weeks, but I think I could move back here in that time."

Shock poured through Sarah then, and she immediately dropped his hand.

"Steven, no," she started, gathering steam to dissuade her boy from derailing his future for her sake. "You're doing so well out in Brooklyn, with your work, you have our own life."

At once, he countered, "Mom, you're part of my life. A really big part. I, I can't just leave you here on your own. It's just a job, I can find another if it all goes south."

"I'm not on my own," she reminded him, fighting hard to have him see reason. "I have Freddie and George, and Paul and Lisa."

"But they're not...they're not your son, who should be here for you," he ground out. Snatching her hand again, he met her gaze squarely, resolution filling him and forcing him to go rigid. She had to understand, had to know why he'd come to that decision. "Mom, you've always taken care of me, even people thought I was a lost cause. How could I not do the same for you?"

Sarah looked at her son, the young man he had become despite the odds that had been against him since birth. Certainly, his physiology was not the worst it could have been, but not all parents would be willing to have a child with numerous allergies, asthma, a B12 deficiency, and his easy susceptibility to illness. Not all fathers would be able to overlook how thin he was, how below the average height he fell (taking after his mother in that regard, which he was able to ignore since he was still taller than her). But Sarah and Joseph loved him, and since her husband passed, she continued to carry that love in the face of the snide comments and clicking tongues, the pitiful looks and the bruises they both endured. And she knew, deep down, that she would do it all over again if she could.

However, she was still humbled by the earnestness he displayed for helping her, for his willingness to do the same for his mother.

Laying her hand over his, she curled her fingers around his palm and squeezed, sniffing hard to dispel her own tears.

"...If you're set on it, I suppose I can't stop you," she murmured, her voice strengthening as she finished. Steve let out a slow breath, nodding once as he squeezed her fingers gently.

"I'll get my things taken care of back east after this trip, and I'll come right back as soon as I can," he promised her, the mental checklist already being compiled in his head. It would be tight, but he would make it work. He would find a way to make it work.

She gave him a lopsided smile then, and lifted a shoulder. "Okay."

Sarah shifted forward in her seat, but she was stalled when she met her son's gaze again.

"I will be here, Mom," he stated once more, no argument to be brooked and no doubt left in either of their minds about his determination. The matter, therefore, was settled for the time being. After the two had shared in dinner (discussions of what would done the next day as far celebrations went feeling lackluster even as they went back and forth), Steve left his mother to watch one of her favorite movie, the emotions inside him roiling.

Going up the stairs and outside, he spotted Bucky sitting on the steps of the back deck, hastily stubbing out a cigarette when he saw him. (The habit was picked up during college, and was banned to the fire escape of their building when they had been roommates out of respect for Steve's asthma. It seemed that he had not given up, like he'd hoped he could, since the end of the last month.) The smaller man marched right up to him, spying the lingering regret and guilt in his friend's face, and promptly punched him in the shoulder.

"Ow!" Bucky cried, rubbing at the thumped area. Steve didn't have a ton of power in his punch, but it still hurt nonetheless. All the built-up rage went out of the smaller blond man before he could even consider answering back with his own hit, and he could see the hurt in his expression.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Steve demanded, jerking his chin to the door of his mother's apartment. Bucky ran a hand down over his face, exhaling deeply.

"We only found out a couple days before you did," he responded, knowing exactly what he meant. Seeing the winding up his friend was preparing to do, he cut back in, "And, Steve...if I had, it wouldn't change anything."

That took the wind out of Steve's sails, and the smaller fellow sighed again, massaging his bruising knuckles as he sat down beside his friend.

"Might have saved me a little on shipping costs," he mumbled. Off Bucky's raising eyebrows, he stiffened his spine, staring out at the trees lining the edge of the property. "I'm coming back to help her."

Steve mentally braced himself for another round of arguing, but was surprised when the brunet fellow let his sigh out through his nose and tip his head back to look up at the summer sky.

"I'd fight your punk ass on this, but it won't do any damn good."

And that was the truth of the matter. It would do no good to argue against Steve's stubbornness, and that time, he was unwilling to match it with his own. Sarah Rogers had been a staple in his life as well, and to have the comfort of family at hand was hardly something he would speak against.

Steve snorted at that. "Finally, you learn."

"Only took a couple decades." Bucky's grin was wan, and it did fall in the face of his next statement. "You guys have us, too. Don't forget it."

The smaller man looked at him again, and he swallowed hard, dipping his chin.

"I won't."

 **xXxXxXx**

Steve's birthday was celebrated as part of the neighborhood block party the following day, the families of the cul-de-sac ringing around him and welcoming one of their own back for the holiday, all but a few blissfully unaware of his plans to make it for longer. The typical delight he would normally sport for being born on Independence Day was subdued, but he did manage to maintain a smile and eat what he could. Freddie and George Barnes had each taken him aside, both of them aware of his wishes to be at hand while his mom got through her treatment, and reiterating her concerns about leaving his own life behind to do so. They told him there was no need for him to do so, they would watch out for her, and all the protestations she had made the day before. He remained resolute, and when the Martins made their way over to wish him a happy twenty-fourth birthday, the matter was dropped.

By the time the fireworks were brought out, he was simply ready to move on, get back to Brooklyn and prepare himself to help his mother. On the fifth, the young fellow boarded his plane back to New York, concentrating on getting in contact with the important parties about the move once he could use his phone again.

It took a little while, but one of the important parties had arrived at the apartment to air her concerns as soon as he had gotten home.

"Steve…are you sure that you want to do this?" Sharon asked as the blond man sorted through his books, her brow furrowed as she watched him place one in the 'ship immediately' box. It was the third day after returning, and not the first time she asked him that question in particular. Sharon, of course, was in shock and dismay over Sarah Rogers' condition when Steve reported it to her, but that immediately gave was to incredulous irritation when he announced his intention of moving back to Minnesota. The first night home had ended with the pair of them going to bed stewing, with bandages soothed over the cracks in the morning...until she began to try and talk him out of it again that evening.

Crossing her arms over her chest in the present moment, she pointed out, "I mean, people live longer with dialysis nowadays. It's not a death sentence; you don't have to drop everything to take care of her."

Steve rose from his crouch, the book in hand tossed onto the bedspread and his blue eyes holding a sort of impatient sadness.

"Sharon, you weren't there. You didn't see how sick she looked," he chided her, suppressing an irritated sigh when she rolled her eyes. How could she understand, when she hadn't gone home with him for any holidays for the last year and a half? Raking a hand back through his hair, he ground out, "She was too thin, too...it was bad. Dialysis will help, but I'm scared for her."

That pulled Sharon up short, much as it had when he first announced his intentions to move back to the Midwest. His fear for his mother was undeniable, and had shaken her, too. Sarah Rogers was no titan by any means, but she was a calm, sturdy presence, one she had known since their senior year in high school. The two women in Steve's life had maintained a cordial relationship, and she did feel terrible that the elder had taken a turn, health-wise.

"You can always send her money," Sharon posited gently, seating herself on the edge of the mattress and reaching for his hand. His grasp was limp when their fingers slotted together, but she squeezed them back when he did. "Save up a portion of your paycheck, visit when you can. You built a life out here, you can't just give that up."

Steve closed his eyes, taking a steadying breath before looking at her again.

"I know, I know that this will make things a little harder, but babe, this is my mother. She stood by me when everyone else was ready to give up on me, from the first day. She deserves no less." In his estimation, he owed Sarah entirely for his life, and he had to be there, to be sure that she would receive the proper treatment. While she was a nurse, and knew the people running the dialysis personally, he still felt like he had to do something to help. She always helped him when he was sick; he would do the same for her. Grinning tiredly at Sharon, he continued, "Besides, I'm not giving anything up. I spoke to Mr. Phillips already. He's willing to accept my entries long distance, so long as I meet deadlines. I'm going to do this. I know you have to stay here, but maybe—"

At once, she stood, crossing the room and reaching into the purse she'd left by the door. The abrupt movement caught him off-guard, though her voice stalled any questions that could have bloomed on his tongue.

"I wanted to tell you a couple days ago, but...well."

She handed him the opened envelope, watching him guardedly as he withdrew the letter from inside and began reading. His eyes widened, and the obvious clash of emotions bloomed in his irises even as he grinned at her.

"Cambridge accepted you? That's so great," he congratulated her, though it was muted. It had been part of her plans, for years, to further her education at the school her beloved great aunt had gone to. It took a lot of hard work to get accepted, he knew, and he wished he could be happier about this stroke of fortune. In fact, irritation bloomed inside him; she'd never told him she was applying in the first place, and was waiting to tell him...why did she wait? Clearing his throat, he instead murmured, "I thought you were going to wait a bit longer before going for your masters."

Sharon bit her lip. That had been her intention, but as she worked in her post as a technician, she could not help but feel she could be doing more, and doing it sooner. She had wanted to save up a little bit of money to ease her debt, but the nagging, gnawing feeling inside her could not be quelled any longer. Sending in her transcripts and application in the middle of May, she had barely made it into the program of her choice.

"Steve, I have a huge opportunity here," she stated, firm in her stance as she took the envelope and lett back from him. "This program will help fast-track my career once I'm out of school. If I don't take a chance, I know I'll regret it."

Steve dipped his chin, his face falling a little more even as he managed to keep up his pleased demeanor. And that was what bit hard at Sharon, the rock in her stomach tightening as her resolve to just get it out won.

"And...England is going to be so different, so far away..." she trailed off, inhaling deeply when her throat got stuck with what was unsaid. Unwelcome realization dawned inside Steve then, compacting the irritation and worry churning in his mind.

"You want to break up," he muttered, sitting on the end of the bed. Sharon mutely nodded, remaining standing as he bowed his head, eyes closing against the upsurge of tears he'd been squelching since learning of his mother's disease. Bitter humor lanced through him as he inwardly guessed that the universe simply was not done throwing him curveballs. Taking in a few deep breaths, he mumbled aloud, "I suppose I should have seen this coming. We were heading this way, anyway."

The blonde woman across the room narrowed her eyes, hands going on her hips in offense.

"What do you mean by that?" she challenged, the truth hitting too close for comfort. Steve affixed her with a knowing look.

"Share, come on. We don't go on dates anymore; this is the longest we've spent talking about something not related to our jobs. We're at work all day, and then after we get home and eat, you go into the spare room to do whatever, or go to bed before me," he said, ticking off the points on his fingers. Al of it was the truth; the slow decline of their relationship had been happening over the last year and a half, but both were still so enamored with the idea of being together that they hadn't acknowledged it. At least, not out loud. He had been noticing as her work shifts became longer, when she found excuses to be away...when he found himself making excuses, too, and losing himself in his projects. Dropping his gaze to his knees, he managed to blurt, "We haven't even...for weeks."

Red flushed into both their faces at the glaring lack of physical intimacy, the most telling indicator of their fading feelings. Sharon tugged at a strand of her hair when she finally walked back over to him, sitting with a soft, sad exhale.

"I...Steve, you know I love you."

The ache in his chest grew, but he forced himself to ask, "In what way, though?"

Silence reined between them as she closed her eyes, accepting the facts openly for the first time.

"You're right. I guess I just...didn't want to face it. You've been a lot of things to me, Steve, meant a lot," she said, her brown eyes watering as she met his eye-line once more. He inclined his head, taking her hand between his two.

"And you have been to me." Quirking a brow, he couldn't help but wonder, "What was the point of arguing with me earlier, then?"

Sharon shrugged, canting her head. "I just didn't want you to make any rash decisions. You still have your own life to live, even if I'm not here."

The twist in his soul tugged hard at him then, and he could only blow out a sharp breath.

"I do. And I'm choosing to live it how I want." He let go of her hand then, affixing his gaze upon the half-packed boxes. "With or without you."

Another beat of silence, and then the mattress shifted, Sharon rising and sniffing sadly.

"Okay. I'm going to go stay with Lillian until you're done moving out," she told him, fetching up her purse before going into their shared closet. Quickly, she shoved some clothes from it and her travel toiletries into a bag. Casting one last look at the prone figure still sitting on the bed, staring at his his feet, her feet moved of the own volition and brought her back to his side. Bending, Sharon gave him a final, lingering kiss on the cheek. "I'll, I'll see you around, Steve."

Her steps were nearly silent as she went out of the bedroom, through the living room and out the door, the last vestiges of security and stability gone for both of them. The smaller man sniffed as the front door clicked shut, the quiet hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen breaking the silence left in her wake.

"Bye, Sharon," he whispered, the repressed tears dripping out as he turned and went back to packing. He hurt, he ached, but he would not change his course. Going to his mom to help was the right thing to do. Breaking up with Sharon was the best thing for both of them. No matter how much it made him feel like he was ready to puke.

He would survive, he promised himself, books barely looked at as they were dropped into the boxes. Even if felt like everything was collapsing around him.

 **xXxXxXx**

As promised, Steve's belongings were packed and ready by the middle of the following week. The few that needed to be shipped west were sent off, leaving a couple suitcases worth of clothes and his traveling art supplies. His drafting desk was sold, along with his easel, both items too big and bulky for either of them to really consider shipping out. He reckoned he could always find replacements once he got back, once things were settled, and in the meantime, his travel desk would do. He did not see Sharon again in that time; she only went to the apartment when she knew he was out, clothes changing and disappearing in the closet the only indication of her presence. Though he hadn't given her much time, she was able to figure out subleasing the spare room to another friend of hers, who would then be bringing her brother over to sublet from Sharon in the fall. After locking up behind himself for the last time, he shoved the key back under the door, hauling his suitcases down and the lump in his throat threatening to choke him as he directed the hired cab to the airport.

The flight passed without incident, and when he landed back in Minnesota, he was met with the humid heat that he had grown accustomed to in his childhood. However, that time, his pick-up person was not Bucky. His best friend was out on the building project in Minneapolis, and he could not swing the time away.

There was another, though, who had the time to do so.

Heading down to the baggage claim, he spotted her before she could see him. Holly Martin had not changed overmuch since the last time he'd seen her in person.

Due to her own efforts, she had managed to snag a spot at the University of Minnesota, intent on pursuing a degree in English (her high school papers had put his to shame, something he found out when she had asked for his help proofreading a few times). She was only in the next city over from her parents during the school year, but she still spent her summers at home to save money. As such, she worked a summer job in between a couple of online courses, but she had the day off. When she had returned home from her trip—and subsequently found out about Steve coming home—she immediately asked how she could help.

Getting a ride would be a great start, he had teased, but she agreed freely, and so, she was there.

However, what was clear that she had progressed at least somewhat. She held herself with an air of self-assurance, more than she had in years past. Her brown eyes scanned the crowds, the few inches she had over him helping her in that regard. The curves she had been developing over time had settled on her, the cute girl she had been turning into a pretty woman. He found himself swallowing against a dry throat, blaming the lack of anything to drink on the flight for it.

Steve managed to sneak up right beside her, poking her sides and making her yelp in shock at the tickling touch. When she turned, glaring and opening her mouth to tell off whatever stranger dared to touch her, he snickered when she slid in a gaping gasp.

"You grew, kiddo," he said to her, lifting a shoulder and unapologetic. A barking laugh ripped out of her, her head shaking as she strode up to him and opened her arms.

"Shut up, I have not. Not since high school," she retorted, rolling her eyes and smiling as she drew him into a hug. He hugged her back, warmth bursting through the cold that had settled inside over the last few days. It was over soon enough—but only after he had begun to wonder if he should have let her go—and softness invaded her expression. "It's good to see you. I'm sorry I missed being around for your birthday."

Steve blinked and spiked an eyebrow. He caught the blush invading her cheeks, and smothered both his snicker and the rebellious churn in his gut. Holly had not been at her parents' house for Independence Day, taking a trip a couple hours north to celebrate with some guy called Peter (he sounded okay, but he was way more into science fiction than she even was, and his aspirations to be a pilot sort of solidified him as a partial douche in Steve's mind when he was told about him). He had been told at the barbecue about it, as well as via text from her the days prior to his arrival, so it wasn't exactly anything new to him.

"You had a good reason," he retorted cheekily, another spike in his stomach ignored even as he smirked at her. Holly looked at him then, her smile weak as she shrugged a shoulder.

"I'm not too sure about that," she muttered, the joy in her eyes somewhat dimming. Before Steve could ask, she turned her attention back to the carousel, spotting the luggage still spitting out onto the conveyer belt. "C'mon, let's get your stuff."

The three suitcases were hauled off the belt, Holly dragging two of them while Steve grappled with the third and his carry-on bag. They spoke a little as they walked through the airport and across the road to the parking ramp. Evidently the Peter guy was history; too full of himself, and he had a weird obsession with raccoons that she didn't want to contemplate. Steve told her of the general quiet of the flight, and how hard it was to wrestle three suitcases into and out of a cab during rush hour in the city. He was relieved, therefore, to see that Holly had borrowed her mother's TrailBlazer. The SUV was loaded with his few belongings, and he climbed into the passenger seat, exhaustion rippling through him as Holly started the vehicle.

They had only been on the road for a few minutes, a detour planned for a late lunch from one of the fast food chains, when Holly turned down the radio and cleared her throat.

"You know, I think it's admirable, that you're coming back to help your mom out," she confessed to him, the low tone of her voice catching the raw parts inside him.

He raised his chin, fingers plucking at his seat belt. "She doesn't deserve any less."

Holly cut her eyes over to him quickly, her brow furrowing when she concentrated on the road again.

"You think you owe her."

"I know I do," he retorted, reeling inside and wondering if he would have to fight Holly over the issue, too. When she did not push, instead negotiating a left turn and taking them to the drive-through down the road, he felt the tension lessen.

"And you're going to do a freelance artist thing for work, right?" she inquired after a few minutes, choosing to go forward with the conversation instead of dwelling. Steve had made his choice, and he had his reasons; she knew he would feel they were good ones, and there was no point arguing against something he would do. At least he had retained his job—that was what made her nervous for him. Just a little, she muttered inwardly. When he nodded, she dipped her chin in return. "Why not? Writers do it all the time. And this also gives you the chance to work on your own stuff."

He chuckled at that, a weary grin of relief on his lips. "Among other things."

In between ordering over the speakers and driving up to the window to pay, Holly's fingers fidgeted around the wheel, the next question on her mind difficult for her to say (for reasons she wasn't sure she entirely understood or wanted to).

"Is Sharon coming at a later date?"

Steve's grin fell, his face stony as he turned away from her.

"…No. She's moving to England, as she planned."

Holly's eyes went round as saucers, utter surprise in her expression.

"Oh," she whispered, at once looking contrite. "I'm sorry, Steve."

Steve shook his head again, the bile in his gut churning, though not as much as it had in days past.

"I'll survive."

"As always," she returned, smiling when he finally looked back at her. Taking a bit of comfort in her grin, he sighed and leaned his head back against the headrest.

"Yep," he mumbled, jumping a little when he felt the gentle pats she dealt his knee, the whirl of his mind catching his tongue. It remained tied as she fetched up their food order from the window, passing him the bag and letting him tear into it without another word said on the drive.

The homecoming Steve received that evening was very calm Freddie had conjured up a dinner of his and Sarah's favorites, the Martins crossing the cul-de-sac and joining them. Holly had to leave after the meal, citing the need to get back over to the house to work on a project for her summer course that she'd been putting off, but she still hugged him farewell. A whispered promise to talk to him later had his stomach clenching and his heart turning in confusion as she let go, his bright gaze focused on her as she went out the door. It did not take him long after dinner to situate his things in his old room, and after confirming his mother's scheduled appointment bright and early the following morning, he went to bed, his mind unsettled even as he slept.

Dialysis was not a picnic in the slightest, and Steve had seen that firsthand when he accompanied his mother that first time. She had elected to try hemodialysis, which meant going into the hospital to the specific care rooms designated for that. Morning appointments were preferred, when things were generally still quiet. Three days a week were dedicated to the treatment, four hours spent being hooked up to the machine and the dialyzer cleaning her blood. The first morning, Steve could not look away as the on-duty nurse inserted the needle and started the machine, Sarah barely flinching when she did so. Often, they were alone in the room, but sometimes they would have company. The other patients were a balm to Sarah's soul, and Steve could not help but record the harsh beauty of the machine, the delicate strength of the others as they were hooked up and fought to retain their lives despite the rebellion of their bodies.

So much of who they were touched him, and he could not stop himself from preserving what he'd seen on paper, sketches bursting and occupying his sketchbooks.

July faded into August, and August melted into September, the new routine of their lives starting to settle around them. In between appointments, Sarah would work whatever shifts she could (now that she was officially graded as a part-time nurse), and Steve started to supplement the bill payments. The first time he handed over one of his own checks to George Barnes for the rent, the older man actually looked like he was about to cry—it was the greatest amount of emotion that he had shown the blond fellow since he was a child, and it really shook him. It took some time, but with his gradual takeover of payments, it seemed less and less foreign for him to be taking care of the home while his mother and her insurance concentrated on her physical care. Each he got up, eating the modified breakfast foods she was allowed to have, reminded him that he had done the right thing, even if it was difficult. It was rough, finding the stride while recovering from a break-up and sudden move, but he did know for a fact that it paled in comparison to Sarah's travails, and powered through it. He cleaned, he got her to appointments—as well as maintaining his own, given his continuing ailments—and he worked hard on the projects sent to him from the east coast.

The late September sun had shone brilliantly since early that morning, few clouds in the sky as Steve ferried Sarah to and from her appointment. It remained that way when he took the chance to enjoy the sunshine, setting up his laptop on the glass table on the Barnes' back deck, his latest designs for an ongoing advertising campaign scanned in and sent off in quick succession. Once he perused his email, he moved onto his designated work sketchbook, intent on developing a scenic background that had been farmed out to him from one of his colleagues. He hardly noticed the shift of the sun or the changing hours as he worked, losing himself in the task as ever.

"Hey," a feminine voice eventually broke through his concentration. Looking up, an easy smile spread on his lips. Holly was there, hands tucked into her pockets and her hair drawn up out of her face. As she had promised him, she was around throughout the summer, any time he had off and with his mother feeling herself allowing him the chance to reconnect with his old friend. Often, she would tag along with him and Bucky when the older fellow wanted to double-date with a new girl, the two friends relying on each other to act almost as chaperones while still enjoying themselves. The girl he had known growing up had really come into her own, the forthrightness and loyalty remaining despite the years shaping her. He was glad to get to know her again, get to know her as herself.

The light tan from the summer months had not faded just yet, and the warmth in her darker irises remained as she looked at him. Smiling back, it did lessen somewhat when she sat down beside him.

"How's it going?"

"Okay." Nodding to the closed entry door, he lowered his tone. "She's not feeling great, really nauseous."

It was a stark reminder of the difficulties that could come with the procedure. In the immediate hours after dialysis, Sarah had consistently felt unwell, unable to work or do much of anything but rest at home for the rest of the day. The young woman inclined her head, sighing sadly before turning her gaze back to him.

"And you?" she asked, gently lowering herself onto the chair opposite his at the table.

"Getting by. Just sent off a batch of mock-ups, hopefully the higher-ups will like at least a few."

She chuckled at that. "Keep your fingers crossed."

He nodded, setting his work sketchbook to the side.

"How are you?" he asked her, eyes narrowing a little on her. "Shouldn't you be in class?"

Holly blinked at him. "…Steve, it's Saturday."

It was his turn to blink, though he also shook his head and sighed.

"Right, right. Days can kinda blend," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck as he let out a soft breath. While Sarah was by no means helpless, she had come to depend upon her son's gentle aid, leaving the running of their home to him when she was recovering from a day's treatment. The fact that he had moved rapidly and had to readjust his lifestyle accordingly was also something to contend with, and so he often did find himself second-guessing the days as they passed. Still, it being Saturday did explain why Holly had appeared in the cul-de-sac.

Shrugging a shoulder, the young woman merely let the statement hang in the air, the truth of it irrefutable. Instead, she spied the latest sketchbook Steve was working through, the one separate from his work compilations and sitting farther away from him. Reaching out, she cast a questioning glance at him, silent permission being asked then. A wave of memory engulfed him, of her wondering about what he'd drawn since the last time they were in company when they were both much younger. Carefully, he nodded, watching discreetly as she began to turn the pages. Her gaze examined the penciled works, gliding over the arches of the bridges he favored in New York to the scenes of the city life he'd left behind. However, it was what was in the last few pages of the cluster that had her grinning slyly.

"Who's that?" she asked him, pointing at one page in particular. Steve turned his full attention back onto her, and he lifted a shoulder.

"New character I'm working on. Just for fun."

Her eyebrows inclined, and both their gazes settled on the character in question. He was drawn in a heroic pose, a masked cowl drawn over his head with small wings jutting out from the sides. The scaly body armor led to a striped midsection, a star settled squarely in the center of the chest. Heavy boots encapsulated his feet, and a round shield was on his raised arm. She snickered a little at it, deducing what the likely color scheme would be for the fellow once her friend colored it.

"Nice outfit. Very patriotic. Really spangly."

Steve's own grin grew as he shrugged again. "He's a throwback, pays homage to those 1940's heroes that were designed specifically to boost moral for the guys overseas and the ones back home. I'm thinking of developing it into a miniseries of my own."

As he warmed to his theme, Holly grinned back. Turning the page, she felt her eyebrows incline as she saw the hero without his cowl drawn up. Though the head was a bit more square, and broader due to having a bigger build, there was no mistaking the line of the jaw, the nose, and the eyes.

"Huh, looks familiar," she muttered aloud, markedly meeting Steve's eye as she did so. Those same eyes that been put to the page flicked away, and a tinge of pink appeared in his cheeks.

"Maybe what I could have been if I had born a little taller…" he muttered, toying with one of his pencils. Under his breath, he added, "And not as scrawny, and weak."

Apparently, he did not say the last sentence quietly enough, as Holly's brow furrowed and she clicked her tongue.

"Because those are your only defining traits. Even though they aren't true," she replied sarcastically, almost ready to flip the sketchbook shut and shove the character away. She knew that Steve's sore spot was always in the mirror, but she had wished since childhood that he would not let it dominate his perceptions as much as they did.

Hearing the disgruntled edge in her tone, Steve drew in a breath, rolling his eyes. "Holly."

"Steve," she cut off his chide, giving him a look that begged him to give her a little more credit than he was. Tapping the page with her thumb, she let her glance soften, though her spine stayed stiff. "I'm not the little girl in the sandbox anymore, and you're not who you think you are, either."

Digesting her words, Steve raked a hand through the flop of his hair, assessing her as much as she was him. No, she was no little girl anymore, the evidence there for all to see. A shiver course up his spine as he thought about how grown they both were, and he covered it with a cough. The pink his cheeks spread a bit, but he attempted to gloss over it with a smirk.

"Dunno," he said. "You're still as blunt as you were back then."

It was Holly's turn to blush, and she tugged on the ends of her sleeves as she sat back in her chair.

"Some traits you can't shake." Dark brown eyes connected with blue, and she went on, "But they aren't the only ones you have."

The sincerity in the declaration shook him, and it took several long seconds before he could concede the point.

"Suppose you're right."

Holly raised her chin proudly. "Damn straight."

"Language," he retorted, wagging a finger at her and tsking.

"Shut up," she crowed, picking up the sketchbook again and turning the page. A few more sketches of the hero in various poses met her eye, and she tilted her head. "Are you going to turn this in at your job?"

Steve twiddled the pencil between his fingers before tucking it behind his ear.

"I was thinking of...turning it into a web comic." The dawn of approval and delight on Holly's face as he spoke emboldened him further. The idea of doing so had been kicked around for the last few months, something to put off doing until another day in the future. With the freedom of his new position and hours, 'another day' seemed to be closer. Licking his lips, he murmured, "I'm not really talented at the tech side of things, but I have a buddy from school, Sam, who would be willing to help me get stuff set up so I can start posting."

The brunette girl nodded, liking the plan more and more as he spoke. Being a comic artist had been a dream of his since they were kids, and when he'd gotten his job in the design company, she had wondered if he would ever get to touch on that dream in the future. In light of everything, it would be good for him to have something positive to work toward, for himself.

"That would be really cool. You should do it, Steve," she encouraged him. Another thought occurred to her, and she felt bashfulness rip through her as she suggested, "And if you, uh, if you need help with any dialogue, or story lines or something, I could, I could help. Even if it's just to proofread."

The pure happiness in his smile was something she hadn't seen in a long time, and it made flutters grow in her stomach and her heart swell.

"I'd like that," he told her. Glancing down at the sketchbook, he asked, "You really think people would like him?"

"What wouldn't there be to like about a guy called..." She paused, glancing down at the big, block letters pronouncing to all the identity of the hero. "Captain America? Yeah, you should do it."

In those small moments, in that back yard, amidst the trials and tribulation, the uncertainties and worries of the future, Steve felt a few moments of peace and hope, the hero of his mind taking shape as he started to look forward to the future again.

A future that, perhaps, could include a new heroine as well.

* * *

 **A/N:** ...Don't mind me, coming in with my head hanging in shame.

I am so sorry, you guys, for not writing in over two months. The thing is, my life has gotten sort of...nuts. I finally, FINALLY, have a full-time job in my field, that allows me to do what I love and not starve, haha. I also had a potential romance rise and fall very rapidly in that time, too, so it's just...it's been a journey.

I was writing in between all that, but my focus got drawn away. I am hoping that will not be the case from this point on.

So, some stuff really goes down in Steve's life. Sarah Rogers develops a life-threatening disease, and he moves back home...breaking up with Sharon in the process. At least he has his work to focus on, his friends to reconnect with.

I have not been in contact with many dialysis patients, or people with kidney disease. I primarily had to rely on online research. If I have gotten anything wrong, I meant no offense, truly.

I own nothing from the MCU, nor do I own any other references made in the text.

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!


	7. Chapter 7

Holly Martin rolled from her back onto her stomach, the pages she was perusing turning with her. The pen that was wedged by her side was fetched up, and she bit her lip as she scratched through a word, marking it with a spelling correction. Idly, she mused that at least her multi-thousand dollar education was being put to some use, and she chuckled under her breath.

It had been nearly a year since she had graduated from college, a degree in English secure in her back pocket and the world opened up to her. She had slogged through her last years as an undergraduate, churning out papers and finding whatever part-time work she could manage. Dreams of writing a novel were put to the side as she assembled a chapbook, pulled all-nighters for tests, and attempted to find her place in the world. After walking across the stage and accepting her empty holder (the diploma itself came a few weeks later), she would struggle to find that elusive place again.

Friendships bloomed and faded in that time. Rebecca Barnes, her long-time neighbor, had gotten into a school in Vermont, and had stopped coming back to the Midwest by the summer after sophomore year. They kept in touch on Facebook, though less so as time went on. The English department had a book club of sorts, several of the people remaining decent acquaintances after graduation. However, it was during her time earning physical education credits in a dance class that she met a true friend: another Sarah, all brassy blond hair and brassy personality. Despite their differences, they'd gotten on like a house on fire, the bold Virginian adding new color to the native Minnesotan's life. The pair eventually had become roommates, with Sarah working towards the last few credits for her degree as Holly went out into the working world.

It took a little more time, and a couple more part-time jobs—one as an administrative assistant and another as a theater usher—before the brunette got a position she had been hoping for. It was as an entry-level editor for a publishing company, her responsibilities narrowed indeed. Still, it was what she had been working toward getting, and she felt incredibly lucky to have something with a steady paycheck and a couple benefits to start with. She would be starting the second week of April, a couple of days from the present moment, and she looked forward to it.

Not all her time was spent at or on work prospects. She would go out to her parents' home every couple of weeks, taking the time to check in on her family. Her brother, coming out of a messy divorce with his college girlfriend, had moved back into the house. He was juggling his work in an auto parts plant and his young daughter, and Lisa and Paul gave them room to stay while he got back on his feet. Heather had since married her college boyfriend, the pair making their lives in Iowa for the time being. In between helping babysit little Jodie, Holly also took the chance to get across the cul-de-sac to see the Barnes brood...and the Rogers family as well.

Not long after their conversation about his comic character, Steve had purchased a domain, the formatting farmed out to the friend he had said would be willing to help him. Once the general layout was erected, and the uploading functions explained to him, he got to work on the first story arc, the origins of the hero undergoing experimentation to become the peak of human fitness and capability sketched out. Before inking, though, he had taken Holly up on her offer to help with the writing, attributing credit to her when she'd agreed and helped clean up the language of the panels.

In those times she went back to the cul-de-sac, their interactions were not limited to work on the comic. The closeness between her and Steve grew with each flickering glance, with each conversation about everything and nothing, with his mapping out a particular figure and her leaning against him to tap out a paper on her laptop. Texting between them increased as well, little memes and emojis hurtling back and forth with abandon. A spark deep within her, one that had ebbed long ago, burst again, coals lit and fanned as Holly spent more hours with Steve, the brightness of his eyes despite his exhaustion and the noble gesture of caring for his ailing mother burrowing into her heart.

At that moment, she was overlooking the plotted points for the next arc of the comic, her thoughts straying to the young man responsible for the ideas on the paper in hand, and she sighed. He really was doing well with the comic, the fan base for Captain America growing daily (the site hits counter was climbing like crazy, particularly after fully introducing the main villain a couple of pages ago). It might not be too long before he could possibly start to see some financial rewards for his efforts, which would allow him to slowly withdraw from the company he was still sending pieces into. Biting her lip, Holly wished that one day he could; as it was, Steve could not leave the place that allowed him advanced paychecks to ease his mother's dialysis treatments and care.

He was so good, deserved so much more than life had seemed to throw at him...

Holly let out another soft sigh as a pang rippled through her. He definitely deserved better than—

The thought was interrupted by the clamoring ringtone emitted by her smartphone. Dropping the paper, she grabbed the device from where it rested on the bedside table, a faint smile lighting her features as she screened the call. Speak of the devil...thumbing the answer button, she brought the phone up to her ear.

"Hey, Steve," she greeted the young man over the line. "What's—"

A shuddering gasp crashed through her question, and she felt her stomach drop.

"I...it..." His voice faded, a tinny sound and announcement echoing and making her wince.

"What?" she asked, raising her own voice so that he could hear her.

"It's Mom, Holl," he finally managed to say, the announcement cutting off. Another shaky breath was taken, and he murmured, "She..."

At once, Holly pushed off the bed, stumbling over to her closet and putting her shoes on.

"Where are you?" she asked him, her calm tone belying the the worry flooding her system. It had tripled when he told her that he was at the hospital, his mother having been brought in via ambulance a short while before. Reassuring him that she would be there soon, Holly got off the phone quickly, snatching up her clutch and keys, barely having the patience to lock up her apartment door behind her. A fast text was sent to her roommate Sarah, letting her know she would be gone for awhile.

Her car spat and sputtered, but she had managed to get it to cooperate long enough to take her to the nearest parking ramp to the hospital. Clutching her admittance ticket, she jogged through the structure, only slowing to a fast walk when she got the skyway connected to it. People passed in a blur, her mind racing and running as she maneuvered into an open lobby. Unable to spot Steve, she sent off a fast text, asking him where he was. She paced by the front desk as she waited for an answer, trying to make herself as unobtrusive as possible. Glance were shot at each hallway adjoining it, and she wondered which she would end up going down.

Within a few minutes, a door down the left hallway opened, and a familiar person stepped out. Spotting him, Holly let out a huge sigh of relief.

"Bucky," she called out, striding up to the dark-haired man when he stopped and looked at her. At once, her friend opened his arms to her, drawing her into a fast hug when she got close enough. The clear disturbance in his features had her gut tightening when she drew back, and she asked him, "What's going on?"

Risking a glance over his shoulder, he took her by the elbow and brought her over to the nearby embankment of windows. The whir and rumble of traffic was unheard through the panes, but provided a point of concentration as he began to speak.

"Sarah...the last couple days, she's been way more tired than usual. That's what Mom said," he told her, grimacing as he shook his head. Since he was no longer living with his parents, he took got any information that Steve was unwilling to impart from them. Scratching at the curve of his jaw, he continued, "And then, this morning she insisted Steve bring her upstairs for breakfast with my parents. Wanted to visit, I guess. But she collapsed when she got to the table. They called the ambulance, and Steve was with her until she was checked in and taken away."

Holly took in a deep breath, and Bucky exhaled sharply himself, closing his eyes as he prepared to tell her the rest. One of the doctors who had been treating her had come by with a report only ten minutes before the young woman beside him had arrived, and sick sadness flood through him as he recalled what they were told.

"The dialysis isn't working anymore," he confessed, and could only dip his chin when Holly truly gasped. There was a twist in his chest as well; after all, Sarah Rogers had been part of his life for years, too, and it was unthinkable to think that she was fading. "The doctors think it might be total renal failure. They're testing to be sure."

A muttered expletive met his ears, and Bucky could not help but agree with Holly's sentiment.

"Is she still in testing now?" she wondered, peering up at him.

Bucky nodded, and then pointed back to a closed door to the right of the hall.

"Yeah. Steve's over in that private waiting room. I was gonna go get a couple of sodas."

"Pops," she corrected absently, not quite able to stop herself. The older fellow snorted, tipping his head to the left.

"You can take the boy outta Brooklyn," he mumbled, reaching out and patting her shoulder. Affixing his stormy gaze onto her, he let the levity bleed away. Tilting his head in the direction of the waiting room door, he stated, "Go on; I don't think he should be alone right now."

Swallowing hard, Holly nodded, patting Bucky's arm as she moved past him. She could feel the burn of his gaze following as she went, but she did not turn back, her attention focused on the door. Her feet felt heavy as she crossed to it, the handle cold in her grip as she depressed it and swung the door open. The waiting room itself was bland: a worn couch and loveseat seat, accompanied by a beaten coffee table and a lamp stood to one side of the room, and a table and chairs were on the other. A television was mounted in the corner, muted and closed captions playing over the insipid sitcom on the screen. Her gaze was drawn to the figure sitting in the far corner of the couch, elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. When the door clicked shut behind her, he looked up, and Holly felt the constriction on her stomach take over her heart.

Steve's face was blotchy, his eyes bloodshot, and his inhaler tumbled from between his fingers into his lap. Feet moved of their own volition, and she went to him as soon as he stood up.

"Steve," she said, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. The height disparity between them was practically nonexistent in that time, with her pressing her face into the crook of his neck and him burying his face against her shoulder.

"Holly," he garbled, the clear strain in his face heard even as he spoke into her shirt. The grip he latched around her waist surprised her with its strength, but she said nothing about it. For a long moment, they stood that way, both young man and woman lost in the fog of emotion swirling around them.

Sniffing hard, it was Holly who eventually broke the quiet. "I'd ask how you are, but..."

Steve pulled away, dejection outlining his whole body. "Yeah."

Holly took his hand, absently threading their fingers together as they both sat on the couch.

"When will they be done with the tests?" she asked as he leaned over to grab up his fallen inhaler, the instrument tossed onto the coffee table as he exhaled.

"I dunno. We should have answers soon, I hope," he professed, glancing up at the clock on the west wall. "Mom will have to stay for the night, at the very least."

The brunette was not surprised to hear that would be the case, given Bucky's pronouncement and Steve's obvious upset. She bit her tongue briefly, trying to finding something, anything to say that would be a comfort. Settling for squeezing the hand she was holding, she attempted to smile.

"Here's hoping."

Her friend dipped his chin, but she could see how little hope he held in his eyes. A couple minutes ticked by on the clock, sparse conversation made as they waited for any sort of news to be brought in. Bucky returned within a half hour, bearing the promised sodas as well as some junk food from a vending machine down on the second floor. Each picked and munched at the spread, with Bucky telling of a contractor he was working with who seemed to have been the devil's son (Holly shot him a joking glare, reminding him to be careful since her father was a contractor, too). The couple of stories about the frustrations with the guy did pull Steve out of his worries on and off, and he did eat a little more as the minutes ticked.

(And all the while, the smaller fellow continued to hold her hand. Holly felt something in her heart being touched, and Bucky had to bite back a smirk at having his private suppositions about the pair being confirmed in that small way.)

Over two hours went by before the door opened again, a nurse with dull brown hair and tired eyes stepping in. Clearly, she was on the tail end of a long shift, but she still kept a pleasant expression on her face. However, her dark eyes held a modicum of sadness, and it had Holly gripping Steve's hand tighter for a moment.

"Mrs. Rogers has been moved to her own room," the nurse announced kindly. Meeting the blond man's gaze directly, she told him, "She's asked for you, Steven."

Mutely, Steve looked to his friends, sudden fear and renewed panic flooding into his face. The brunette woman beside him felt his palm start shaking, and it pained her inside.

"I'll be here," Holly promised him, not willing to leave him in the lurch. Pink flooded into her cheeks when she realized what she said, and she guiltily slid her gaze to Bucky, amending her statement. "We'll be here."

Steve could only nod, squeezing her hand once more before letting go and getting up. Bucky stood, too, clapping his back and tipping his chin silently before stepping out of the way. Steve followed the nurse out the room, not seeing his two friends look at each other, deep sorrow in their features hidden as the door shut behind him.

He was taken up the stairs, to the rooms near the end of the hall. He knew them to be the long-term care facilities: the rooms were a little larger to accommodate various types of machines and medical equipment, as well as space for any family members that would visit or stay overnight with the patients. The wrenching in his gut was renewed, but the bile rising in his throat was swallowed down before the nurse stopped in front of the last door on the right. Taking a deep breath, he whispered his thanks to the nurse and steeled his nerves to open the door.

The woman in the bed certainly looked unwell. Sarah Rogers had endured three years of dialysis treatments, but it had never restored her back to her old form and strength. She was thinner than her son now, the circles under her eyes starker and her blonde hair limp in the messy braid it was put in. The pale, waxy quality of her skin had been returning over the last few months, and was all the more noticeable as she convalesced. The only parts of her that were untouched were the bright eyes she'd passed to her son, and the warm smile she could manage through the pain of her life.

"Hey, Stevie," she greeted him, shifting in the bed and taking care not to disrupt her IV and monitors. Other tubes and wires trailed away from her, the necessary equipment set up near the bed.

"Mom," he breathed, crossing the room and reaching out to hug her. As he bent to wrap his arms around her slight frame, he felt a shudder go through him when she barely reciprocated. She maintained her smile, though, as he pulled back. In silence, he retreated to the grab a visitor's chair from the corner. Pulling it closer to the bed (and making sure it was not set on any tubes or wires), he sat down. Sarah held out her hand to him, and he immediately clasped her palm. Long minutes passed, the ticking of the clock on the wall practically echoing in his ears. When his mother failed to say anything for awhile, his head drooped, and he closed his eyes. Forcing himself to voice the fear rattling in his brain, he asked her, "It's renal failure, isn't it?"

Sarah sighed, the pain in her soul piercing her as she told her boy the truth.

"Yes. And, and the damage is, is too much for a transplant."

The full horror of the situation was dawning on him in that moment, though his mother remained calm. She had assisted with dialysis patients in the past herself, knew that some had good chances to live longer lives, but others simply could not. Evidently, she fell in the latter category, something she did not delude herself into thinking might not happen when she first started her treatment. However, she knew that Steve would not want to contemplate that possibility at the beginning. Now, though, it was unavoidable. He wasn't naïve, but still, Sarah was his mother.

He'd already lost his father; how could he want to think of his mom dying, too?

The hand that had been clasped in hers was pulled away, balling into a fist atop the sheets as Steve thought furiously.

"There's got to be another way," he muttered, glancing away before looking at her again. "What about switching to the other dialysis, or home treatments?"

She shook her head. "It won't work for long. The doctors think I have days, maybe a couple weeks at most."

Steve's eyes went wide at the pronouncement, and he started to breathe harder. Red began to flood into his face, and his free hand went to his pocket, feeling for the inhaler stashed there.

"What about my kidney?" he offered then, desperation worming into his eyes. "Wouldn't mine match? I'm type O, you can—"

"And risk your life, too?" Sarah cut in, taken aback by his earnestness. Sternly, she gripped his hand, shaking it hard. "Do not ask me to do that, Steven Grant Rogers, do not."

"Mom, you'll die!" he cried, his baritone voice deepened as he allowed frustration to win out over his sorrow.

"I've been dying for years!" Sarah shouted back, stunning them both with the vehemence of her proclamation. Steve sat, utterly shocked by her words. She would not take them back, though it had startled even her. In her soul, she'd felt herself slipping little by little as the years went by, each treatment a little harder, each pain and twinge becoming more difficult. All her life she had been fighting, it seemed, ever since Joseph Rogers had been brought back home in a coffin. Perhaps that was truly when she'd felt herself start; deep down, she'd been ripped apart, and nothing would mend it.

It was only now that her body was following suit.

After tense silence enveloped them, she cleared her throat, forcing her own irritation away and gazing upon her grown-up child again.

"I've made my peace with this, son," she told him, Steve turning his head and averting his eyes. Still, when she reached for his hand once more, he did not pull away. Sweeping her thumb over his knuckles, she murmured, "I don't expect you to do the same, but...I do hope you will be here until...until it's time for me to go."

Tears began to burn at the back of Steve's eyes, his throat thickened. His mother, dying…only a few days, before…

He wouldn't deny her request, never could think to do so.

"I'll, I'll be here," he vowed, trying to hold back the sobs that were pounding painfully against his ribs. Sarah looked relieved, like weight had been taken from her shoulders.

"Thank you." Squeezing his fingers, she began to talk quietly about making preparations the people she would need to see and talk to. An attorney would need to be fetched, since she wanted to revise her will, and any funeral arrangements would need to be chosen. As well as that, she had good-byes to make. Each words felt like a dagger in her son's heart, but he was in no position to refuse her. It was a short list, only the close friends of the cul-de-sac. And, she also stipulated, that he did not have to be alone with her when he visited.

"I'll make sure Bucky and Holly have permission to be here with you," she stated, almost nonchalant in tone. He started to nod automatically, but when the second name hit, he blinked rapidly and scratched the back of his neck.

"Holly? I mean, that would be great, but, um..."

Tired, weak, and ill as she was, Sarah Rogers could still affix her son with a _look_ , and she did look at him.

"I may be dying, but I'm not blind," she proclaimed, chuckling and shaking her head as Steve blushed harder. Patting his wrist, she intoned softly, "You need her, too. I won't stop her from being here. Besides...I rather like her myself."

A cough rattled in his throat, then, and Steve finally took out his inhaler. Putting it to his lips and inhaling the depressed medicine, he took a moment to get through his jumbled thoughts.

"Good to know," he wheezed, wondering how much she had seen, how much Sarah really knew.

In that, she let him wonder, instead grinning gently.

"Yes."

 **xXxXxXx**

As promised, Holly was granted permissions normally extended to family members by the staff of the hospital per Sarah Rogers' request. The younger woman was uncertain why, but when she asked both Steve and his mother about it, she received no definite answer. (Steve ducked his head, while Sarah shot her a tired smirk, and then the conversation was changed to something else.) It was no hardship for her to do so, in any case; Steve was her friend, and she did not want him to be alone, did not want his mother to think either was lacking in support. Often, she did not do much other than bring over the adjustments made to the writing for the comic, or her own mutterings about her new job, but the normalcy that had gone out the window for Steve was something she could provide.

He practically engorged himself on it, listening and even choking out a laugh or two as she described a few major errors in the manuscripts she'd read. His mother watched fondly from her bed as he took the chance to act like the twenty-seven-year-old he was, and not the stoic man he became when papers were brought in, and the will notarized. With her, he could just let the weight off, for a few minutes.

(One evening, when the two were on the visitor's couch in the room, they'd nodded off, Steve's head in Holly's lap, and her hand resting on his chest. Sarah had fallen asleep too, but woke to the sight of her son with the young woman, water beading in her eyes and something inside her relaxing even through the pain.)

The decline of the older woman was heartbreaking. After the diagnosis, it seemed she was rapidly heading towards the end, though her mind and spirit had not waned. She was sound in her choices for _after_ , and Holly could see that provided her some small comfort. Steve supported her, most of his days spent in the hospital, and a few of his nights, too.

Three weeks after the distressed phone call she had received, Holly was sitting at her desk, saving the final edits of a novella that was being considered for publication. When her phone rattled—she'd always put the device on vibrate at work—she glanced down at it. The caller ID revealed that it was her own mother, Lisa's happy smile reflecting from the picture assigned to her number. Glancing around and noting that none of her coworkers were paying her any mind, she picked up the device and answered the call.

"Mom?" she asked, lowering her voice so as to not arouse further suspicion. The publishing house was a good place, all around, but she knew that there were limits to leniency and personal calls.

It was the gasping breath that made her hold her own, but the next words sent it out in a whoosh.

"Holly...she's gone," Lisa said, the distress and tears clear in her tone. "Sarah Rogers passed away this morning."

In and out, she forced herself to keep breathing. She had been to visit the hospital three days ago...she was gone. Such a kind and lovely woman, gone...and...

"How's Steve?" she inquired, staring blankly at the screen of her computer. Immediately, she slammed her free palm against her forehead. Chiding herself for the stupidity of the question, she was immensely grateful that her mother did not call attention to that aspect. Lisa, who had likewise known the Rogers family for years, was trying her best not to cry over the phone. It was difficult; Holly could practically feel the effort on her end.

"Once they...once they took her to the..." the older woman inhaled sharply, unable to even contemplate saying the word 'morgue'. Instead, she gathered herself and concentrated on the next part of her explanation. "James brought him back to the house. He's staying in Andy's old room, from what I know. I can't imagine he can bring himself to go down to the apartment yet."

Holly found herself nodding, hums coming out of her mouth as her heart and brain pounded. The arrangements were being attended to, but it would take a little time before Sarah's body would be taken for the funeral.

Resolve hardened inside of Holly, and she quickly tapped out an email, forwarding the finished manuscript onto her superior. Grabbing her bag, she shot to her feet, turning off her computer and setting her work phone to go to voicemail.

"I'm going over there," she said, her voice brooking no argument. Lisa tutted under her breath a little.

"Honey, there's not much you can do," she reminded her gently, but her daughter would not be dissuaded.

"Doesn't matter. I have to be there."

Another exhale, and then her mother hummed herself.

"...Okay. I'll let them know you're coming. I'll tell Dad to help get your room ready, too."

"Thanks." Standing, she paused before thumbing the end call button. She had to say it, had to. "Mom...I love you."

Lisa Martin took another shaky breath, and murmured back, "I love you, too."

Hanging up, Holly scrubbed viciously at her eyes; she couldn't cry, not in public, not in front of her coworkers. Swiftly, she slung the straps of her backpack over shoulders (maybe one day, she would invest in a purse, but until then, her old schoolbag did nicely) and marched to the end of the hall. Knocking on the door there, she felt a minute tremor of panic sweep through her, but it was squashed by the time she was given permission to enter.

The minimally decorated office had a metal and woodwork desk in the center, an old Dell computer perched atop it. Behind it, framed by the two windows that overlooked the parking lot beyond, was her supervisor. Natasha Romanoff was a few years old, a few inches shorter, and miles beyond stunning, in multiple respects. Given that she was climbing ever-higher in her career, becoming chief editor of her department within a year or two of graduating herself, she would likely remain so. The striking beauty of her face and red hair was intimidating enough, but Holly felt rather inadequate next to her. Still, the woman was responsible for hiring her.

Now, though, the younger brunette felt no intimidation whatsoever.

"Natasha, I have to leave," she announced plainly. "My Steve—my friend, Steve—his mom just passed away. I gotta go."

Her voice had caught, and that had made Natasha raise an eyebrow. Her ocean-colored gaze flicked from her computer screen back to the woman standing at the door.

"She's not a family member, right?" she asked, and Holly sighed.

"No, but...look, I came to tell you as a courtesy. I'm not going to stay through my shift today," she replied. There was no way. They could take it out of the few hours of sick leave she'd managed to accrue, or one of her personal days. Either way, she did not care. She had to go, right then. "Sorry."

The redhead stared at her for a moment or two, assessing silently. Then, her chin tipped in acquiescence.

"Okay. You can have tomorrow, and the rest of the weekend, too." Off the relief and (frankly) questioning glance that was shot at her, the editor quirked up a corner of her mouth. "You finished your project, anyway, and it's gonna be quiet until we get the next piece in. I'll mark you as working from home."

Holly inhaled deeply, and turned out her hands in supplication. "Thank you."

Natasha kept her half grin, but still narrowed her eyes somewhat. "Remember, this is an exception, not a rule. Don't push it."

"Never thought about it," the brunette confessed, letting her eyebrows incline minutely. The redhead snickered silently, tipping her head to the left.

"Good. Now, how are you going to get where you need to go?"

That pulled Holly up short. Two days prior, her car had suffered from some starting issues, and when Hank had come to rescue her from the side of the road, he had pronounced that it was an engine problem. Such was confirmed with the mechanic she had the car brought to, and they were still waiting on the spare part. Given how she lived close enough to bus lines, she opted out of having a loaner car. Now, though, it appeared her decision was truly coming back to bite her.

"I, I hadn't gotten that far," she mumbled, shrugging her shoulders. "Cab, I guess."

The quirky smile dropped, and Natasha raised her chin. Seeming to come to a decision, she tapped at her keyboard and put her computer into sleep mode.

"I'm due for a lunch break, anyway. I'll help get you where you need to go," she said as she stood, scooping her purse up from where it sat on the floor by her chair. Flabbergasted, Holly felt her jaw drop a little. Natasha, while pleasant enough to her, was not a close friend or any such thing. But the older woman had seen the distress on her face, the hard resolve of her choice, and had stood her ground to do what she felt was right.

"This is...really nice of you," Holly stammered, backing out of the room and giving her the space to lock up. The redhead shrugged a little herself.

"You're a hard worker, and to be honest, I want to keep you around for as long as I can. I can't do that if I make you resent me. Besides, your mind is probably going a million miles a minute. Better to have someone else concentrate on the transportation aspect."

All valid points, and Natasha would never deny them. Holly had only been there for a short while, but she was good at her job and finished her tasks to the best of her abilities. What she hadn't counted on was the warmth that would be shown even for such a small gesture.

"Thank you, Natasha," the younger woman effused, grabbing one of her hands between both of hers and pressing. "So much."

Romanoff took her turn to blink, the quirked smile returning for a brief moment. Quickly, they exited the building, proceeding directly to the parking lot and getting into Natasha's car. Deciding against going back to her apartment, Holly directed her to the freeway, bypassing the city and heading straight for the suburbs. Straight for home. The drive was done in silence, save for Holly's fingers rapidly tapping out a text to let her friend know she would likely be out for the rest of the night.

"This is the place?" Natasha asked as she turned down the familiar road, watching as the curve into the cul-de-sac unfolded.

"Yeah. My parents live in the blue house," the younger woman said, pointing at it. Hooking her thumb across the blacktop towards the white house, she continued, "Steve and his mom lived in the basement apartment of the Barnes' place."

Natasha hummed, maneuvering the car to park along one side. Her gaze wandered over to the white house again, and something flashed across her irises.

"Is that Steve there?"

Following her gaze, Holly barely suppressed a snort. Bucky, true to her mother's word, was there, hovering around the bushes that bordered the front porch. Since it was still early spring, there was not much he could do in regards to yard work. She supposed it was a way of keeping himself busy, of getting the grief and shock to quiet for a little while. The red Henley he wore had the sleeves rolled up, and he stood after pulling a couple of weeds. When he turned his profile towards them, he revealed the cigarette dangling from his lips (he had been trying to quit again, but the agitation of the day no doubt drove him to needing a nicotine fix).

"No, that's Bu—James," she corrected herself, getting a distinct vibe from her boss in that instant. She supposed she couldn't blame the sudden spring of interest; objectively, she knew that Bucky was a handsome guy. Just not her cup of tea. Which she made plain with her next statement. "He's an old friend."

The woman in the driver's seat cut a glance to her, affecting nonchalance. "Hmm."

Sighing through her nose, Holly bit back the smirk creeping around her lips, instead thanking her supervisor again before getting out of the car. Crossing over the blacktop, she was met halfway by Bucky when she got to the driveway.

"Holl," he crooned, quickly bending and stubbing out the cigarette. Up close, she could see his eyes were not only red from the smoke, but bloodshot from sorrow. "I was wondering if you were gonna get here."

The water in her eyes surged again, but she quickly scrubbed the heel of her palm against them to banish it.

"As soon as I could," she said. Taking a ragged breath, she flicked her gaze up at the second floor of the house. "Is he still upstairs?"

Bucky nodded, closing his eyes for a couple of seconds. "Yeah. I can't get him to come down, and Mom and Dad can't, either. Not even to eat."

Her dark gaze slid down and past him to the front door, her chin rising. "I see."

Bucky narrowed in on her, an eyebrow spiking.

"I know that look. You're gonna try." He scoffed, shaking his head fondly at her. "Good luck."

His steely gaze went beyond her then, eying up the car that had been parked along the curve of the cul-de-sac. The woman just behind the glass was still watching them, likely waiting until Holly made it into the house. The soft outline of her looked promising.

Dipping his chin at the car, he wondered, "Who's the girl?"

Holly rolled her eyes. "The 'girl' is my boss, Natasha. And if you try to hit on her, I won't be responsible for what happens to you."

She did actually lift her fingers to do the air-quoting, and Bucky spread his palms out innocently.

"What? I was just gonna thank her for helping you get here." Off the brunette woman's skeptical look, he continued, "Really."

Holly blew out a breath; Bucky was her friend, but sometimes she wished he could dial back that particular brand of eagerness.

"Yeah, okay."

She stepped around him, only to be brought to a halt when he—carefully—gripped her forearm. The previous joviality was lost, sincerity lining his features.

"And thank you, too." He reached up, slinging his arm around her shoulders to hug her properly, then. He smelled of smoke and the last wisps of the aftershave he favored, and she could not help but return the hug. "Really."

Hugging him hard, she eventually let him go, determinedly not looking back when she heard his footsteps retreat and the greeting he called out to Natasha. Ringing the doorbell, the worn wooden panels were swept open almost immediately, Freddie Barnes ushering her inside with a fast hello. It was clear from her face that she had been crying heavily; she and Sarah been friends since before Steve was born, before Joseph Rogers or George Barnes were in the picture. To lose her dear friend was terrible, though she was trying her best to hold it together. George himself had a brought a dining chair into the living room, not able to sit in the comfy armchair that he and Sarah had had a joking squabble of rights to until she was brought to the hospital the last time. On the couch were her own parents, Lisa and Paul quietly discussing the travel arrangements that the Barnes family and Steve would have to make in the future, and offering to help out around the house in whatever way was needed. Holly quickly went to her mother, enveloping her in a bear hug. The mortality of them all, of her parents, was brought to the fore in that instant, and she was having difficulty swallowing down the fear and sadness.

It was a good minute or two before she let go, another hug given to her father next. The dribble of tears had finally leaked out, but she kept trying her damnedest to push them back again.

She asked after Steve, wanting with everything inside her to go to him, but the doubt of him accepting her keeping her in place. Freddie bit her lip, and it was George who spoke. What Bucky and Lisa had told her was true: once Sarah's body was taken away, her few personal effects bagged and handed over to her son, he was brought back to the house. The minute that Freddie had told him he could stay in Andy's old room, he went upstairs and closed the door. There had been nothing but utter silence since then, though comfort was taken in the knowledge that they could hear the creak of the mattress, so they knew he was still in there.

A plate of food had been warming in the stove for a little while, and she decided that it was time to try again. Going into the kitchen, she carefully extracted the dish, placing it on a hot pad. Fried chicken and home fries were there, and she also threw on a couple of muffins from the basket on the counter. She also grabbed a couple of sodas from the refrigerator. The backpack still looped around her carried those when she fetched up the plate again, a final nod directed at the people still gathered in the living room.

George was staring at the armchair again, she noted, before she turned her attention forward.

Andy's old bedroom was at the end of the hall to the right, Bucky's room to the left, and the remaining two bedrooms directly across. An old memory of Andy, all messy black hair and bright eyes shouting for all of them to butt out before slamming the door, came back, and she snickered silently. The teen years for him had to be a joy to the others in the house, she mused. Still, she could stem the slight feeling that she was doing something naughty by going up to it. Almost like if she went into Hank's room at home.

As it was, she squashed the feeling and shifted the plate to one hand (the dish towel she was using to protect her skin moving with it), knocking lightly at the panels. There was no response, and she tried the handle next. It was unlocked, and so she quietly turned the knob, pushing it in slowly.

The light blue paint of the walls was darkened, due to the heavy curtain drawn over the window. The outline of the afternoon sunshine was completely blocked, the room illuminated by a single bedside lamp. The oaken dresser at the far end held a few picture frames and some of Andy's old sports trophies, and a single paper bag plopped in the center. Glancing to the bed, she saw Steve. His back was to the door, his shoulders and head curving forward as he remained motionless. The tightness in his back was clear, the shaking breaths heaving on and off. Still, he'd not made a sound, didn't turn around to see who had come in.

"Hey, Steve. It's me," she murmured, hovering in the doorway, the sick twist in her stomach matching the pull on her heartstrings. Slowly, he raised his head, turning to look back. Fresh tears tracks were on his cheeks, his eyes swollen. A palm came, hastily swiping at the water still on his face, but the image was forever burned into her memory.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, his low voice scratchy. Coughing to clear his throat, he stared down at the comforter. "I mean, you have work right now, don't you?"

Holly nodded, stepping a little further into the room. The door shifted, softly clicking as it shut.

"I have the rest of the day off, and I'll be working from home tomorrow," she told him. He nodded absently, and she confessed, "I came because my mom called."

Another wave of tears rimmed his lids, his free hand twisting into the sheets.

"I...I'm sorry, but I, I couldn't..."

"It's alright," she said, keep her tone low and calm. Lifting the plate up, she rustled it a little, trying to entice him. "Here, I brought up food."

He sniffed, and turned away. "I'm not hungry."

Holly stiffened her spine, and took in a deep breath. "Please, Steve. Can you try to eat? I, I don't want you to get sick."

"I'm already sick," he replied, his voice no louder than a whisper. The utter pain and brokenness in his tone cracked through, and she put the plate down on the dresser. The backpack came free, landing on the carpet with a dull thud. Rounding the bed, she knelt down before him, peering up into his face. He looked so devastated, so lost, and her heart ached for him. Gently, she placed her hands over his. At once, his fingers snatched hers, gripping hard as he it his lip and his eyes slammed shut.

"Please," she begged. Several long seconds passed, the time winding on the digital clock on the nightstand before he opened his eyes once more.

"Fine."

A sigh of relief floated out of her, but she merely stood and got things set up. The plate was brought to the bed, set down on the comforter beside him, and she retrieved the sodas from her bag. At first, he picked at it, limply holding the unopened can of pop in his other hand. After a minute, he mechanically shoved a bite of chicken in, then a piece of potato, and soon after that he cracked the tab on the can. Holly availed herself of one of the muffins, saying nothing as she swallowed down the pastry. It felt heavy in her throat and stomach, and she could only imagine the boulders the bites Steve was taking felt like. Little by little, he ate, muttering about how he hadn't really eaten since the night before. The smartphone in his pocket began to chime, the reminder to take his B12 pills chirping around them. His tired gaze slid over to the bag on the dresser before dropping back onto the plate again. Thinking she understood, she got up from her spot on the bed, cautiously touching the bag. The click and clatter of pills in a bottle met her ears, coming from behind the bag. Gingerly, she picked it up, pointedly ignoring the paper bag and its possible contents to bring him the bottle. He took his dosage, words still stalled between them when he finished and placed the bottle on the nightstand. More food was eaten, the soda ingested, and soon enough all was devoured.

"I can take care of this, get it back to Freddie later," he said once his can of pop was empty. Picking up the plate and balancing it on the edge of the stand, he put the can atop it and rested his hands in his lap. Risking a glance up at Holly, he felt his lips move, but he could not manage even a bare twinge of a grin. "You should probably get over to your family."

The young woman beside him shook her head. "They know where I am, where I need to be."

Steve shook his head. "But, your mom…"

He trailed off, unable to continue the thought. Without a thought, she scooted closer, her palm laid on his back and gently rubbing over his shirt.

"She knows. So did yours," she murmured, a fresh wave of sorrow rising up in both of them at her speech. Unable to help himself, the blond man leaned into her touch, lowering his head onto her shoulder and cupping her knee with his hand. The unspoken hovered between them as she leaned her cheek against his head, arm curling fully around him and him reciprocating in kind. The muted light behind the curtains had shifted by the time he found his voice again.

"George is going to be looking for a new renter, soon. Once I clean out the apartment." A sharp breath, then a second, and Holly wondered belatedly if he had his inhaler with him, but Steve continued, "He offered it to me, but I can't, I can't..."

She felt the twist inside her as he struggled to speak. For her part, living in the family home after the death of her parents was something she didn't think she could do. She didn't blame Steve at all for it.

"Yeah."

He sniffed hard, the tone in his voice thickened as he stuttered, "And I, I know he has to, that he, he can't afford not to, but since I said no…once I'm done, it'll be like she was never here."

His head came up, and it was clear that the dam he had built up was fixing to break. Tears welled up, and he gripped her knee tightly.

"My mom, Holly. She…"

No further sounds came from his mouth, and at once, she wrapped her other arm around him. He brought his arms around her, squeezing almost painfully as he held on, the sobs wracking him as his face was buried against her shoulder. Holly cradled him close, her own tears mixing with his. This poor young man, broken, alone, cut into her heart.

But he wasn't alone, and while he may have lost his mother, she wasn't gone.

"She was here, Steve, and we all know it," she choked out, retaining what strength she could to say her piece. "George knows, and Freddie, and Bucky…my family won't forget her. I won't. And you won't, ever."

Steve stilled in her arms, though the tears kept flowing for both of them. It took a good, long while before he could even move away again, and that was because his breath had turned dangerously ragged. His inhaler came out (in his pocket, as ever, and she was grateful for that), medication taken and his gasping evening out after some minutes. Still, he kept his hold on her, even when she subtly started to scoot back on the bed to get more comfortable. Eventually, she was propped up against the headboard, stretched out with him resting his head on her stomach. Strands of his hair were parted and carded by her fingertips, the soothing action calming them both as the hours slid by. Her phone was taken out of her jeans pocket, an old movie selected to play as background noise upon it. At some point, she drifted, rousing from her doze to the click of the door shutting and the smell of dinner permeating the room. Two more plates, and cups of water had been set on the dresser, the meager scraps from before gone from the nightstand.

Bucky's aftershave could be smelled faintly as well, and she inwardly blessed him for sticking around, even if Steve wouldn't leave the room.

Dinner was ingested with a bit more gusto than the earlier meal, and the sun was disappearing below the tree lines by the time they'd finished. That time, Holly took the plates herself, not surprised to find the Barnes brood and her parents still there. Lisa and Paul hugged her again when she set the plates in the sink, each of them murmuring their love before telling her they would be heading back to the house. George and Freddie gave her a back pat and a hug, respectively, telling her that she could stay with Steven for as long as she needed to.

When she went back upstairs, Steve was laying on the bed, his phone turned over and over between his fingers as he stared blankly at the ceiling. Thinking she had done all she could that day, Holly started to speak, but was halted when he dropped the phone and looked at her. Exhaustion laced his features, the sorrow he'd expelled from his system a quiet hum at the back of his brain rather than the torrential maelstrom it had been since he'd heard the dreaded flat-line.

"Well, I think I better go," she started to say, and again paused when he sat up, shuffling to swing his legs over the edge of the mattress. Big, sad eyes stared up at her, and she felt her throat constrict.

"Stay with me," he said, resolution in his face as she felt her jaw drop. Off her reaction, he felt a little blood rush into his cheeks and he coughed once. "Please."

Getting the stumbling breath in her chest under control, she closed her mouth and bit her lower lip. Would it be a good idea, her spending the night? She knew how she felt, but she had no guarantee that he felt the same way. He wanted comfort, wanted to feel safe now that he'd lost his last parent. Could she deny him that?

In the end, she inwardly admitted defeat, knowing she couldn't.

"Alright," she conceded. Stooping to grab her keys from her backpack, she went on, "Let me just run across the street and grab a couple things. I'll be right back."

It was no more than ten minutes spent, with her going up to her old room and rifling through the drawers for something to sleep in (she did leave a couple of things there despite moving out, and she was happy that she had, for that moment), explaining that she wanted to be near at hand in case Steve needed something. Paul looked skeptical, eyebrows inclining, but he did not prevent her from leaving. Her dad only told her to try and sleep, if she could, and to come back in the morning for breakfast. Her bundle in hand, she tiptoed back to the Barnes', Bucky locking up behind her when she came back. He, already knowing he wouldn't sleep well, was committed to an old western marathon on television, telling her he'd be downstairs if either Steve or she needed something.

Creeping back up the stairs, she'd knocked at the door again, Steve actually bidding her to come in that time. He'd been able to change into a pair of pajama pants that were ill-fitting (no doubt loaned from Bucky, since he couldn't stomach the idea of going down into the apartment just yet). He was sitting on the end of the mattress, rolling up the legs of the pajamas so he wouldn't trip over them, when he looked over at her. Another blush flushed into his cheeks, and he braced his hands on the comforter.

"If you want, I think there's a futon in Becca's old room, so if you want to sleep there..."

Holly stared at the bed for a minute or two, her heart pounding hard. Slowly, carefully, she raised her gaze again, connecting with his stormy blue irises.

"Do you want me to sleep there, Steve?" she asked him, her tone huskier than she had anticipated it being. If he said yes, she would absolutely do as he wished. Perhaps he just wanted her in some proximity to him, but not that close. She would not overstep any boundaries, respecting his wishes if he truly wanted to at least sleep alone.

He met her gaze squarely, the water gone and redness remaining, but his eyes otherwise clear.

"…No," he declared quietly. Steve, objectively, knew that he was vulnerable, and acting needy, but he could not stop himself from being honest. He wished for no distance between them. And in that vein of honesty, he continued, "I guess I just didn't want you to be uncomfortable."

Holly shook her head, a bare grin on her lips. "I've never felt that way with you."

Something in his eyes softened as she turned and walked the bathroom at the end of the hall. Changing fast into the black gym shorts and flannel shirt filched from her parents' house, she took a minute to steady her nerves, staring blankly into the mirror. She scolded herself firmly for letting her attraction surface as closely as it did. Now was not the time, nor the place. (Her brain hissed back that with her attitude, it might never be, but she shoved the thought away as soon as it popped up.) With no toothbrush, she settled for brushing her teeth with her finger, spitting out the foam and hastily binding her hair back in a ponytail before she went back to the bedroom. Clothes were dropped on top of her backpack, her phone turned off, and she made sure the door was latched.

The sudden touch between her shoulder blades made her jump minutely, but the familiar scent of soap and mint washed over her as Steve stepped closer. Fingers slid across her back and down her arm, her hand in his within seconds.

"Holl..." he trailed off, glancing away before meeting her eye-line once more, "thanks."

The smile she gave him was halfhearted at best, but she did give him one.

"You're welcome," she replied, laying her hand on his shoulder. Several seconds passed before Steve nodded, leading her to the bed while still holding her hand. He let go to let her climb in first, and she crawled to the far side of the mattress. Sliding between the sheets, she laid on her back as he got in beside her. Steve reached towards the lamp, about to switch it off, but he paused.

"Holly," he muttered, the scratch in his throat cleared away.

She looked over at him, the sorrow muted in his face. More was there, lurking below the surface, but she wasn't sure what it could be.

"Hmm?"

Plucking the edge of the comforter, he dipped his chin, coming to some sort of decision. Shifting closer, she felt her pulse thrum a little harder when he leaned on one elbow, bringing him closer to her. The soft light of the lamp backlit him, softening the angles of his cheekbones and jaw. The flop of blond hair fell across his forehead, like it always had since she'd known him. On impulse, she reached up, brushing it with her fingers. As the tips of the digits grazed his skin, he let out a sigh. It was his turn to reach, free palm cupping at her cheek.

Swallowing hard, he barely managed to find the voice to ask his question.

"Can, can I kiss you?"

Eyelashes fluttered, her heart swelled and ached, and she could think of no other answer to give him in that moment, beside the one that flew out.

"...Yes."

Even with permission granted, Steve moved slowly, taking in a few shallow breaths before lowering his lips onto hers. Light brushes led to the careful run of his tongue along the seam, and she opened up to him. Slipping inside, the kiss deepened, tastes of each other exchanged as Holly sighed into it. Her fingers carded through his hair, gold strands tangling as he nipped her bottom lip. He settled in the V of her legs, blindly reaching down and grabbing at the crook of her knee to lift it up to his hip. Taking the cue, she brought her other leg up, ankles crossing as she wrapped her legs around his narrow waist. The lithe press of his frame had her reeling, all the little fantasies and indulgences she'd buried in her mind roaring up.

Holly had wanted Steve so badly, and to have proof that he felt the same was heady, indeed.

Nimble fingers, which had been roaming her sides and cupping her face, started to slide down, shivers blooming in their wake. Steve, not breaking the kiss in the slightest, tugged at the top button of her flannel. As it was released and opened the shirt, she felt the drag of his skin in the dip of her collarbones. Inhaling sharply, coherent thought broke through for Holly as he broke the kiss, his mouth at the join of her neck. Too fast, too much, and she could understand that now.

"Steve," she muttered, the sensation of his lips brushing her skin distracting her for a moment. As the next button popped, though, she forced herself to concentrate. Her nails dug into his shoulders, and she cried, "Steve!"

He jerked his head up, his face blotchy from something other than grief. The haze of lust dissipated somewhat when he spied the consternation surfacing in her face. Fingers froze, the next button of her shirt still between them but remaining in place.

"What?" he asked, the tumble in his brain slowing down and allowing him to think again. Holly let her gaze go pointedly to his hand, and at once he released the button, still fastened and feeling chastened.

"Not, not yet," she sighed, legs loosening around his waist and falling back onto the mattress. "Not before...not before you're sure."

Confusion flickered in his irises. "What do you mean? I'm—"

"Grieving, and in pain," she cut in, logic stiffening her resolve. A small, nasty part of her was telling her that he would only use her to feel better, that engaging in intercourse was just a means to an end, and she needed to shut it up, somehow. Closing her eyes, she murmured, "Doing that won't make it go away, and I don't want to make it worse."

The befuddlement in his voice was all the more obvious, even as it joined the undertone of hurt.

"How could you make it worse?"

She opened her eyes again, looking at him directly. "I don't want to take advantage of you."

The confusion faded then, and he shook his head, irritation bleeding through.

"It wouldn't be that," Steve said, raising himself off of her with his elbows. His eyes narrowed the slightest bit, and he insisted, "I'm a grown man; I can make my own decisions."

Holly, taking some umbrage at his tone, tucked her fingers into his collar, halting him.

"And I'm a grown woman, and I can make mine," she retorted. He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, she inhaled sharply and cut him off. Her hands started to shake a little as she found her gumption—after all, a kiss could just be a kiss, and she did not want to go a moment longer pretending that was the case for her). Steadied after a few seconds, she took the plunge, confessing the truth. "I, I like you, really like you. I don't want this to be something that makes you less sad for a few minutes. I want you, but not like this."

He stared down at her, gaping a little still. For a long time, he'd felt for her, felt his attraction and want grow. Every fleeting touch, every glance...every hour spent working on the comic with her, sharing his load of helping take care of Sarah...sharing hers as she struggled to get through her degree without losing her mind...he couldn't let her think that kissing her was meant as a replacement for his grief. Truth be told, he'd been finding the nerve to ask her out properly, before the final downturn of his mother's health. He'd been making plans, but instead, things went very differently.

She deserved better than that. Always had, in his estimation.

"Holly, I like you, too," he professed, taking one of her hands and threading their fingers together. Sheepishly, he ducked his head, wincing to himself as he continued, "This isn't new. I've wanted this for a long time. I guess the timing's just bad."

She held back a snort that she may have given had the circumstances been different. Instead, she lifted a shoulder and smiled weakly.

"Yeah, a little."

Steve said nothing to that, but the corner of his mouth curved up ever-so-slightly. With their revelations out in the open, he was unsure of what to say for some time. Gently, he began to toy with her fingers, one after the other as the stillness of the night encompassed them. As he began to stroke his thumb along her skin, he raised his chin and looked at her.

"In a couple weeks, I'll be heading out to Brooklyn with the Barnes'. My mom...she wanted to be buried by Dad, and that's where he is. And I...I wanna do this right. I want to take you out when we get home, when everything is..." The catch in his throat returned, and he had to swallow and cough to clear it. She waited, watching as he pulled himself together again, his bright eyes meeting hers. "What do you say?"

Holly's eyebrows inclined, a wary hope building inside. "Only if you're sure."

"More than that," Steve swore, meaning every word. He just needed some time, he just needed her to know that it wasn't an afterthought, or a capitulation. So much was happening, and his head was swirling, and he was so tired...he hated the excuses he was making in his head, but he wanted at least one plan of his to go right.

Holly blinked at him, biting her lip before nodding.

"Then, yes."

It wasn't large, and it was still tinged with sorrow, but Steve's lips stretched in a grin, warmth flooding through him as she smiled back.

"Should we kiss on it?" he asked her, the look on his face far too innocent to take seriously. Even as she rolled her eyes, though, she couldn't begrudge it. Not when it had him starting to look even remotely better.

"Smartass," she groused, fondly. The corner of her mouth curved up, and she cupped his cheek. Tenderly brushing her thumb over his cheekbone, she nodded. "Yes."

The kiss he gave her that time was sweet and short, but no less sincere. It was a seal on his promise, and he always tried to keep his promises. When he pulled away, he laid down and faced her. The light from the lamp remained on, but both were hit with the waves of exhaustion they had been holding back. First Holly yawned, then Steve, and his eyelids flickered shut, unable to stay open any longer.

"G'night," he mumbled, one hand cupping her waist as he fell asleep.

"Night, Stevie," she whispered back, fingers brushing under his pillow as she followed suit.

The few hours of rest they could get (Steve, despite trying to remain strong, had suffered through a couple nightmares, resulting in burrowing closer to Holly whenever he woke from them) passed swiftly, and dawn was marred only by a few clouds. The early spring day was blossoming outside, and the thoughtless alarm on the young man's phone went off. He groaned and cussed under his breath as he rolled and tried to thumb it off quickly; he'd set it the previous morning before everything happened, and had forgotten to deactivate it. Well, he was awake now, and in his mind, there was no point trying to sleep longer. Not with everything that needed to be done.

Holly, however, was having none of it.

"No, too early," she groaned, rolling over and pressing her face against the nape of his neck. Her arm curled around him, and he suppressed a snicker as she groaned again.

"Gotta get up, Holl." He tried to move again, but her grip on him tightened. Shaking his head, he murmured, "C'mon, I gotta get dressed."

She still didn't let go, and he reached back to pat her hip.

"You want your mom and dad to come over when you stay in bed too long?"

That finally got her to let go, even though he felt twinges of regret speeding along his veins as he pushed the covers down.

"Fine, I'll get up," Holly grumbled, turning onto her back and scrubbing her face with both hands. Steve glanced over his shoulder at her, fondness creeping through him briefly as he got out of the bed. As she swung her legs over the side, the melancholia descended upon him again, and he rubbed the back of his neck.

"Maybe you could sleep over again tonight?" he offered, daring to meet her gaze when she looked back him. Lifting a shoulder, he mumbled, "Just to sleep. If you want."

Holly's soft, sad smile hit him directly in the stomach, but he let out a breath when she nodded.

"Okay."

He looked away again, his gaze focusing on the paper bag of effects still sitting on the dresser.

"I, I have a lot of stuff to do for Mom today." It was a long list of daunting tasks. Though Sarah had been thorough in her wishes, the set-up was still required, and as her son, it fell to him to do it. It was terrifying, and heartbreaking, to contemplate, but he had to do it. He wanted to, wanted to respect his mother's wishes...but it was going to be hard.

"I'll help," Holly offered, her gentle tone cutting through the horror and sadness washing through him. "If you want me to, Steve."

He turned back, a thankful and watery grin on his lips. "Alright."

"Just gotta run over to my parents and check in with them." She glanced down at her rumpled shirt, and sighed. "And find some clean clothes myself."

Steve only smirked at her, the redness in his abating as he let his gaze roam over her unabashedly. He said nothing, though, turning and grabbing his abandoned pants. Each kept their backs to one another as they shifted clothing, the soft whispers of her swapping shirts accompanied by him buttoning his jeans. The zip of her fly told him that she was finished, and her feet padded softly over the carpet. Turning to look at her, he inadvertently caught the kiss she was intended for his cheek with his lips. Surprise surfaced briefly, but it had faded as her arms wrapped around his neck, with her bending and pressing closer. He kissed back hungrily, fingers pressing into her hips to hold on tighter.

She did make him feel less sorrowful, but not as a temporary replacement. It felt like coming home, and he relished the feelings she raised in him.

Pulling back, she rested her forehead against his, the pair of them taking comfort in one another for another long moment. One last peck was pressed to his temple, and then she stepped away, crossing the room and grabbing her backpack. She would be back, she'd promised, quickly as she could.

As she opened the door, she was startled. Bucky was standing there, his fist raised to rap on the wooden panels. Holly stammered and blushed. Glancing past her to Steve, he spotted how he was matching her in color in his face, but his gaze didn't waver.

He was hard-pressed to hold back the smirk that threatened to bloom. He'd already checked Becca's old room, which was empty and obviously not slept in. Seeing their reactions confirmed his suspicions.

"Hey, Bucky," Holly murmured, breaking him out of his thoughts as he lowered his hand.

"Morning," he returned, the touch of smugness in his voice clear. Tapping a finger against his pocket, he relayed, "Your brother texted me, told me to tell you to get over to the house already."

"Great," she intoned sarcastically, rolling her eyes for good measure. Adjusting the straps of the backpack on her shoulders, she shuffled past him, muttering, "I'm going, I'm going."

Her feet thumped down the stairs, greetings and farewells called between her and the elder Barnes family members before the distant clatter of the front door closing floated back to them. In that time, Bucky maintained his pleased expression, affixing his gaze on his best friend.

"So."

Steve raised an eyebrow, eyes going stony. "So?"

Bucky slid his gaze back and forth between his friend and the direction Holly had gone.

"Did you two...?" he trailed off, spiking an eyebrow of his own. When he made a gesture to imply the engaging act he thought they might have done, he received a hard frown and shake of the head from Steve.

"No, we didn't," the smaller man retorted, pink tinging his ears and cheeks. The brunet fellow smirked and laughed at his discomfort, and the blond rolled his eyes before shutting his bedroom door behind him. The two friends turned to head down the stairs, the smell of breakfast wafting up to them as they went.

Bucky could have let the matter sit, but he couldn't resist putting in one more comment. Not when Steve seemed to be of a better mindset for the time being.

"You know Hank's probably gonna murder you for chasing after his little sister."

Steve stopped at the bottom of the stairs, fingers gripping hard at the railing, before he looked back up at Bucky. The taller fellow recognized the look in his eye. It wouldn't matter what Hank said, or Paul or Lisa tried (if they were of a mind to, which he doubted). Beneath the strains of grief, there was something more, something deeper, and it even took him aback to see it.

"He can try," Steve stated plainly, absolute resolution in his voice as he pivoted and proceeded to the kitchen, steeling himself for what was coming, bad or good.

* * *

 **A/N:** Sound the alarm! PhantomProducer posted a chapter within two weeks of the previous post!

...Seriously, though, I'm really pleased that I was able to do so. Believe me when I say the sporadic posting in the past bothered me probably as much as it bothered you guys...maybe a little more so.

So...the chapters has some feels...all over the place feels. And maybe Steve's grief and his want for Holly are jumbled and all over the place, but...human emotion, right? It's messed up. But he knows that, and is going to try and do right by her. And she by him, in return.

Also, I am no medical expert, so if Sarah's passing seems too swift...I'm sorry. Creative license is all I can claim on this.

Where they go from here will be in the next chapter. I hope you'll stick around for it.

I own nothing from the MCU nor do I own any other pop culture references made in the text.

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!


	8. Chapter 8

Within a few days, Steve had done as he had promised his mother, relocating her body to New York for the interment. The only bright light in the entire somber affair was that Steve knew that there was someone back home waiting for him, someone who had been through that first weekend of horror and heartache to support him. And confirm that she did, in fact, care as much for him as he did her.

Sarah Rogers was laid to rest with all due respect and ceremony, beside her husband for the first time in nearly twenty years. Those who were able to gather at the cemetery were few, but each of them loved her and missed her dearly as the chaplain intoned the verses of the service. The tears fell from his eyes as he stared at the headstone, his mother reunited with his father in death after all the years apart.

A sprinkling of dirt, final prayers, and several minutes of laying his hand on the stone, and it was done.

Steve and the Barnes brood who were able to make it out stayed on a few more days in Brooklyn, the weather bouncing from sunshine to rain as befitted the temperament of springtime. Leaving the city usually left a small ache in his chest for a few days, but this time the ache was sharper.

All he could think, as the plane ascended when they finally left, was that he would have to take it one day at a time, with the people who cared for him doing what they could to ease their own aches, too.

Holly was waiting for them all at the airport upon their return, few words exchanged as she drove them back to the house.

That night, Steve asked her to stay again, and she did, the pair of them wrapped in each other's arms as they slept.

The days did go back, accepted one after another. Navigating the territory of becoming more than friends with Holly was exciting, and yet also mildly terrifying to Steve. The latent feelings he'd had for her were given free reign, and it sometimes seemed all too much to handle. Her gentle smile, and her hand in his, quelled the fear and surprise, bringing him back to earth and understanding how right it felt, too. She was there when he moved in with Bucky in St. Paul, the last remnants of the old life in the basement apartment brushed and swept clean for any newcomers. He was with her as Natasha called, offering her an opportunity to interview for a higher position in the publishing house. They explored the cities together, the Walker Sculpture Garden and the Minneapolis Institute of Art paired with adventures to Fort Snelling and the F. Scott Fitzgerald House (where she would teasingly whisper "Sport" to him and he muttered "Daisy" as a retort while the tour went on). With every text, every snatch of time spent in each other's company only made the feelings stronger, truer, and both of them sank into it.

Within five months, Steve was back on the East Coast, having to report in to the office headquarters for evaluation. Despite the suffering he'd endured throughout most of the year, he had managed to keep up with his work, and he had confidence that he would be able to meet his boss with no real issues.

Holly, unfortunately, could not swing the trip with him, as she had some major deadlines on a couple different editing projects of her own to take care of. However, Bucky had the available vacation time, wanting to take a chance and check out the old neighborhood again for a couple of days. At least, they would check it out without the haze of sorrow hovering over them.

To the airport they returned, Bucky doing fake gagging as Steve shared a long farewell kiss with Holly at the godforsaken hour of four in the morning. Her tired, pleased grin stayed with him as they boarded, the flight done with little fanfare.

Brooklyn had the touch of autumn upon it as they landed, the crispness evident in the air even as he and Bucky shuffled from taxi to taxi. The leaves in Prospect Park were changing and falling, swirling on the wind when he took a walk through it before heading across town to the home office.

As ever, Mr. Phillips was begrudgingly pleased with his progress "out west" (as he termed it, and Steve did not care to correct him). That day was meant as a preliminary day to meet and touch base; the following afternoon would be an in-depth analysis of his work over the last year. The brief visit did afford Steve the chance to check in on his old coworkers, Sam quietly asking him about some specs for his comic's website on the sly and old Mr. Erskine waving at him while sketching out a design for major car company.

As the shortening hours of sunlight threatened to end, he found himself in another taxi, speeding in a direction he hadn't been in months. Silently, he mused he would inevitably come this way every time he visited Brooklyn.

After all, how could he visit the city without seeing his parents?

The cemetery was devoid of any sort of crowd, the lone groundskeeper shuffling along the far end. Weaving between headstones, Steve soon enough found himself under the tall oak sheltering Joseph and Sarah Rogers' shared plot. He stopped, staring at the granite stone bearing their names and their stretches of life. Carefully, he sat down, crossing his legs and tangling his fingers in the dying grasses. The plot was maintained well (something he made sure was the case, and paid for accordingly), the last remnants of daylight playing across the grave through the branches of the tall tree. He recalled his mom purchasing the plot for both his dad and herself, how Joseph liked being out in nature to get away from the city noise at times. Idly, he wondered if his dad had lived, if they would have eventually moved out of Brooklyn, anyway. It would be impossible to know, in any case.

His mother's name caught his eye, the water filtering in his blue irises.

"I hope you and Dad have found each other," he finally whispered, the long stretch of silence broken. A clump of grass broke away, twisted between his fingers as he read the march of letters over and over. Sighing deeply, his head drooped, the pain and sadness muted, but never gone. "I, I miss you. Both of you."

The ache surfaced, for his father who was gone all too soon, and for his mother who had scraped and worked so hard only to meet a difficult end herself. The memories of both his parents, fleeting and strong at turns, roiled through his mind. Eventually, he sighed again and shook his head.

"Bye, Mom. Bye, Dad. I'll try to see you again soon."

Standing slowly, the breath of wind that had been swirling around him stilled, a brief flash of warmth enveloping him as he turned. A shiver went down his spine, but he felt oddly comforted despite that.

Life would go on, and so would he. One step at a time.

 **xXxXxXx**

The official meeting the next day went well, though Mr. Phillips had noticed a slight decline in the amount of projects Steve had been taking on over the last several months. The allusion was difficult to endure, mostly because the blond man knew there were several reasons behind it. With his mother gone, and a good portion of her bills being paid off, he was starting to gravitate away from the job. His comic, with the captain and his shenanigans, was gaining steam, and he had privately been musing about pulling out entirely from the design company. None of that was said to Mr. Phillips, though; the hardships of the last several months were enough for the older man to go off of, and Steve was not willing to divulge more than that at the time. It was enough to know that he was still doing well, and that he would be receiving a raise in the next month or so.

Just a little longer, he promised himself, a little longer until he would likely walk away for good. He just had to hang on.

Bucky had gone off earlier that morning, departing for Manhattan to call in to a couple of his school acquaintances, and he wouldn't be back until later. After his meeting, Steve was left at loose ends, and so he settled for a long walk down the streets, soaking in the atmosphere of his childhood and few years of adulthood spent there. The thriving busy nature of the passersby was something he had not experienced anywhere else in his travels, the sense of nostalgia overtaking him as he crossed streets and narrowly avoided any rumbling cars zipping around. And yet...underneath it, it did not feel the same, the sense of what was wrong eluding him as he trotted around a hot dog cart.

"Hey, Steve," a familiar, feminine voice called out then, and Steve jerked to a halt. Shocked, he slowly turned, watching as blonde hair wafted around a heart-shaped face and warm brown eyes as the young woman strode up to him.

"Sharon," he gasped in utter surprise. He hadn't spoken or seen her since they had broken up years ago. She'd even gone so far to stop following him on social media, and he had done the same once he'd realized it. Looking up at her, he could see how life had been treating her. There were a couple of tired lines in her forehead, but she otherwise glowed. She was doing well. Coughing once, he said, "I, I thought you were still in London."

"Actually, I'm living in Lyon now," she explained, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. "Came back for Lillian's wedding."

"Oh, I see."

"Never thought I'd run into you here," she chuckled, shrugging a shoulder. "Not unless..."

She trailed off, seeing the downturn of her ex-boyfriend's face. The end of their relationship had encompassed Steve's mother first showing symptoms of her disease. When he made the choice to move back to Minnesota, she had come to the conclusion that the only reason he could be back in Brooklyn was due to the older woman's death.

Evidently, given the muted sorrow in Steve's irises, she was correct in her assumption.

"Oh, no," Sharon breathed, feeling constriction in her chest. Since her senior year of high school, she had known Sarah Rogers, the two having gotten along well enough when they were in company. That such a decent, kind soul was gone from the world was sad, but it was the clear ache in Steve's expression that caused her to choke up. Reaching out, she laid her palms on his shoulders. "I'm so sorry, Steve."

He swallowed hard, the ache in his heart fresh again, but he managed to lift a shoulder.

"It's...she's at peace," he told her, knowing that was at least true. The corner of his mouth lifted, and he glanced away. "She's with Dad now."

"Right," she mumbled, looking away herself. After a couple of seconds, she reached out, her palm laid on his shoulder and squeezing gently. When he looked up again, he saw the true sympathy in her gaze. "Really, you have my condolences. Sarah was a great woman."

"She was," he concurred, nodding and stepping back slightly. "Thank you."

Sharon's hand dropped, and she bit her lip, tucking the fingers into her pocket.

"How long are you in town for?"

Hands buried into his pockets and Steve lifted a corner of his mouth. "Flight leaves day after tomorrow. I came out here for my yearly evaluation. I've also been checking out the old neighborhood with Bucky."

Sharon blinked, pleasantly surprised.

"He's here, too?" she wondered aloud, smiling at Steve's nod in affirmation. An idea started to form in her mind, and she tilted her head slightly as she continued to look at her ex. "Maybe...maybe the two of you could meet me at The Vision for a drink tonight? Just like old times."

It was Steve's turn to blink. Sharon wanted to see him for a drink? Albeit with Bucky? Something about the idea bothered him. Perhaps it was the glint in her gaze, or the way his gut twisted when he thought about how he would explain hanging out with his ex to his new girlfriend.

However, he did know Sharon, and did not think she would be angling for anything nefarious or hurtful. He did consider her an old friend of sorts; perhaps it wouldn't be so bad.

"I'll talk to him, see if we can swing it," he stated, palming the phone in his pocket and mentally noting to call Holly about his potential plans as soon as he could.

"Cool," Sharon said, her smile growing. "Just call me, we'll figure it out from there. You still have my number?"

An embarrassed red tinged Steve's cheeks as he shook his head no. Once he'd moved back in with his mother, he'd erased Sharon's number, figuring that the clean break was what they both needed. In any case, she had not reached out to him since then, and he'd honestly forgotten about it until that point. An apologetic smile came to his lips as he pulled out his phone, opening a new contact page and holding the device out to her. The corner of her mouth rose wryly, but she took the phone and punched in her number, reiterating that he get in touch once he knew his plans for the evening. Returning the device, she took a step back, saying a light farewell before turning on her heel and walking down the street. Watching her go, Steve exhaled sharply, turning the phone over between his fingers before walking away as well.

Heading back to the hotel, he went to Bucky's room. Relaying the events that had happened, he asked the brunet man what he wanted to do. Steve did not want to go alone to meet with Sharon—indeed, he still felt awkward about even bumping into her—but he didn't want to subject his friend to the awkwardness, too. The older man shrugged, muttering about how neither of them had much to do, anyway, so they might as well get a drink with her. The only admonishment he made was that Steve should probably tell Holly where he was going, just so there was no being blindsided by the news of it should it come up when they got home.

Steve had given him a dull look, asking him plainly if he thought he was stupid or something before he fetched out the phone. Retreating to his room, the call was made. For her part, Holly was gracious enough to accept that it had been years since the pair had seen each other, and Steve had pronounced emphatically that he would meeting Sharon with purely friendly intentions. The brunette on the other end of the phone knew him too well, knew that he would not have designs or aspirations that leaned towards any hurtful desires, and she was able to bid him to have a good time. She also stated that she knew Bucky would fight for her honor if he decided to try anything, both of them laughing at the statement before he hung up.

Steve met up with Bucky again when they had both changed and set up a meeting time with Sharon, the pair of them exiting the hotel just as the sun had set and the crisp air cut at their jackets. Hailing a cab, they were deposited in front of the bar soon enough, the blonde woman they were meeting waving at them as they approached.

The Vision was a bar near the park, occupying the lower two levels of an old brownstone. The proprietor, an Englishman with piercing blue eyes and a biting wit, had emigrated years ago, once he'd married his girlfriend and they both decided a fresh start was needed. When Steve and Sharon, and Bucky, had lived in the neighborhood, it had been one of their preferred hangouts on the weekends. Going again, spying the owner working the bar along with his wife's brother (naturally auburn hair threaded with silver dye and his eyes flashing at the blonde woman in their midst), was like stepping backwards by a few years. The old table in the corner was open, the three of them taking seats with their beers and bathing in the atmosphere for several moments.

Soon enough, Sharon started to fill in Steve and Bucky about what had happened in her life, post break-up. The program in Cambridge had done exactly what she thought it would do for her; namely, it had accelerated her career. She now had a position in INTERPOL, working with officers internationally as liaison of sorts. She had been a connecting point in several crucial cases, though she could not speak of definitive details due to confidentiality. Her time overseas had been well-spent, with visits mainly done to London to visit her elderly great-aunt.

(She also, subtly, implied that she had recently ended an affair with an agent based out of Wakanda, which had Steve blinking and Bucky closing his eyes to roll them. The brunet man privately thought that her slight mention was about as subtle as a baseball bat to the stomach, but he kept it to himself.)

The two men took their turns to fill her in on their lives. Bucky was in the middle of telling her about the recent building project he'd been working on over the last few months—another apartment building, this one out in Edina—while Steve nodded at random points. His phone vibrated on and off, messages coming in, and he answered them while his friend spoke. The grin on his lips was unmistakable, and Sharon was drawn to it.

"Who are you texting that's got you smiling like that, Steve?" she piped up after a few minutes, once Bucky was finished. She softened her blunt inquiry with a grin of her own, and her eyebrows inclined.

Not exactly expecting the question, he stated, "Oh, uh, Holly."

He had told her where he was, and who he was with, prior to their arrival, and she expressed that she hoped he would have a good time. He had been hasty to reassure her that she was his girl, and that he was not alone, and she had responded back that she had faith and trust in him. After all, she'd remarked in her most recent text, she'd kick the crap out of him once he got back home, and wouldn't that be embarrassing, getting into a brawl at the airport? Especially after Bucky stepped in? As was their habit, they had been sending each other gifs and such as the evening progressed, with her telling him that he did not need to answer her so quickly since he was out with friends.

The thing was, he wanted to answer her. He wanted to keep in touch with her, since he was far away. And, though she was his girlfriend, she was very much his friend, too.

Eyebrows spiked higher, and Sharon felt a little pinch in her stomach. "Holly? Little Holly Martin?"

"Not so little these days," Bucky remarked, smirking broadly as he took a sip from his glass. "She's definitely grown up."

Sharon's smile lessened somewhat at that pronouncement, but she kept her focus on Steve. His cheeks had taken on a deep shade of pink, and he squared his shoulders.

"Yeah." Scratching the back of his neck, he met Sharon's gaze. He had never spoken with an ex about his current flame; as a matter of fact, she was his only ex, and so it would have been impossible to deal with before. Lifting his chin a little, he murmured, "Um, she and I...she's my girlfriend."

He hadn't thought it possible, but Sharon's eyes had opened even wider at the mention of his new girlfriend. They had only known each other in passing—their only connecting factor had been him, after all, and the age difference was enough at the time—but she did know Holly a little bit.

"Oh," she breathed. Narrowing her gaze on the New York Jets decal on the wall over his head, she clicked her tongue. "Huh."

The blond man caught the flicker of a look that Bucky shot him, and he too glanced back. That wasn't quite the reaction he was expecting, and he couldn't help but wonder at the meaning behind it.

"What?" he asked, looking for clarification. Sharon shrugged, attempting to toss her hair nonchalantly.

"Nothing, just..." the blonde woman trailed off, running a finger around the rim of her glass. Steve's gaze narrowed in on her, and Bucky spiked an eyebrow of his own as she attempted to demur. Failing that, she tilted her head to the left and muttered, "...Well, with your mom gone, I thought you might move back here."

Befuddled, Steve's brow furrowed.

"Why would you think that?"

The blonde woman shrugged, as if she had no real care about what she'd implied.

"Well, she was your last tie to the Midwest." Out the corner of her eye, she could see Bucky bristling at her words, but she wasn't about to apologize for it. After all, he was too close to the situation. She had gotten out, gotten away, and she had perspective that she believed that Steve likely had not considered. "And now...well, you said you laid her to rest here. Brooklyn has always been your place, Steve. I just never thought you would want to take on another thing that would make you stay away."

The smaller man's lips formed a full frown then, and he felt roiling in his stomach as heat began to burn along his veins.

"My mom has been gone for six months," he intoned sharply, wanting to make his mind known. Sharon outright snorted, crossing her arms, and Steve sat up straighter in his seat. "Holly isn't making me do anything, Sharon. I'm gonna keep living there."

"But you don't have to anymore."

"I _want_ to," he countered, the truth of his words striking hard. Even Bucky had flinched, though he kept silent. His gaze bounced between the ex-lovers, intrigued and irritated at turns as they continued to banter and argue.

Sharon snorted again, rolling her eyes. "For her? I mean, I get it, she's had a little crush on you for years—"

Steve jerked back a little at that. "What?"

"—But you don't have to stick around and pander to her vanity," Sharon glossed over his interruption, waving a hand through the air. "You have your own life to live."

She felt her frustration with him pour into her explanation. He deserved better than to be stuck in the middle of the country, away from the important places of the world, his life and career on the verge of stagnation due to his attachment to some girl.

Some girl that, she felt in her heart, he'd always had a soft spot for, even when Sharon was with him.

Oh, she knew he'd never cheated on her, could never cheat—he was practically constitutionally incapable of it. But the bond he had with the younger brunette from across the cul-de-sac had always irritated her, to some degree, though she'd kept it to herself. Once they'd both moved away for college, she thought that would be the end of it, that whatever was there would fade with time and be gone. Instead, it was her relationship with him that had floundered, and he'd gone back, right back into the boring little pit, with that bland little girl who had never left and had never done anything of note.

He could not let his life be stymied by such things, and such people.

"And she's part of it. She's been part of it for years," he uttered, a minor shake in his voice as he stared at her. The glint in his bright irises told her she'd touched a nerve, and not one of his better ones. "Years longer than some people."

The blow landed, and Sharon flinched, feeling her ire start to rise, but Bucky spoke up again before she could answer it.

"Besides, the family is in Minnesota now," he stated, giving her a sharp look as well. How dare she imply that Steve was alone, that his family had not always thought of the blond punk as one of their own? Shaking his head, he muttered, "Well, most of us, anyway."

"But what about your dreams?" she implored, causing Steve's eyes to widen. Hurriedly, she declared, "You really think you can accomplish them in a state that only gets remembered when the Coen Brothers feel like it's time for another round of mocking? I just hope she isn't holding you back."

The insults broke over them, and Steve could not help but stare at her, incredulity and shock in his gaze. He had known that, apart from meeting him, she had not liked moving to Minnesota for her senior year, but he had not thought she held that much contempt for it. Although, given how she was pointedly remarking that it was Holly that was keeping him there, he privately mused that Sharon's prejudice was really against the other woman.

He laid his palms flat on the table, meeting her gaze squarely.

"My dreams are my concerns, Sharon. Not yours," he told her, each word measured and precise. She would not be able to mistake his feelings on the matter, and she would not be able to shy away from them as they registered. "They haven't been yours to care about for a long time. And she's never held me back."

"One could argue that she has actually pushed him forward a few times," the brunet man at the table interjected, draining the last of his beer after the remark. Sharon flinched, and Steve let out a slow breath.

"Buck," he muttered, still trying to diffuse the situation. The other man raised his chin, not backing down for several moments. Eventually, his gaze darted from the smaller man to the woman across the table, and he shook his head.

"Look, it's been...well. I'm going back to the hotel," Bucky said, unable and unwilling to find anything positive to say about the experience. Tapping his fingers to his temple in a mock salute, he stood up. "Night, Sharon. Have a safe trip back to Lyon."

Pivoting on his heel, he marched out, a final farewell called to the bar owner before her went up the stairs and out onto the street. Watching him go, Sharon felt the first twinges of regret filter through her bravado. She and Bucky had gotten along in the past, and to have the blatant about-face did not sit well with her. Looking back to Steve, she saw the disappointment and the resolution in his face. He was not going to take anything she said to heart. She had an opportunity, and she had wasted it on her own judgments and her own burgeoning jealousy.

It was a sudden, and difficult, pill to swallow.

"Steve..." she started, trailing off when he shook his head and pushed his chair back.

"I should probably go, too," he said, rising from his seat and circling around the table.0" Good night. I wish you luck with everything."

"Before you go..." she said, halting him in his progress. Pausing, he looked down at her, eyebrows rising the barest fraction. Taking a deep breath, she continued, "Are you sure?"

Steve stared at her, at the woman he had once called his, and now no longer knew. Flicking his gaze away briefly, he lifted a shoulder as he formed his answer.

"I can't be sure," he murmured. It was only fair; nobody could be sure of anything in life. His mind turned back to Holly, the flood of feeling cresting in his chest, and he exhaled. "But I do think it will be alright."

Sharon stared at him for a moment longer, and then she looked away, hands settling in her lap and her posture slumping slightly. She would not alter his intentions, and she could not belabor the point any longer. Not when he not receptive to her, anymore.

"Bye, Steve," she muttered. The blond man breathed a sigh out through his nose, his hand coming down to clasp her shoulder for a few seconds. Soon enough, he let go, leaving her and the bar without a backwards glance.

Heading out onto the street, he spotted Bucky idling at the corner, a cigarette dangling between his lips. The habit had been cut down significantly, but there were days when he needed it, he'd claimed (to his credit, he never smoked in their shared apartment, out of respect for his friend's asthma). A long drag was taken before he dropped it to the ground, grinding it under his heel and turning to blow the smoke away as Steve strode up to him.

"Thanks for waiting," the blond man said, holding his breath a little as the smoke dissipated.

"Yeah, I figured you wouldn't be staying long after she said that," Bucky said, shaking his head. "She had no right to."

"No, she didn't," Steve concurred. The pair of men turned, walking down the street in the direction towards their hotel, neither willing to call a cab just yet.

"Suppose she was just concerned," the taller man ventured after a few seconds, watching his friend out the corner of his eye.

"Not her job to be anymore" Steve stated flatly, tucking his hands into his pockets. "That's someone else's issue now."

Bucky finally cracked a grin at that, and elbowed his friend lightly. "Too bad she has to deal with your punk ass."

"Shut up, jerk," Steve retorted, smirking and elbowing him back. The chuckles they shared in subsided, pensiveness returning to the smaller man's face. Glancing up at his best friend, he wondered, "D'you think she was right? Sharon, about Holly..."

Bucky inclined an eyebrow. "Which part? That she's holding you back, or that she's had a thing for you since forever?"

Noting how flat and clear his voice was, Steve murmured, "I think your tone said it all for both of those."

"Yeah," the brunet man agreed, shrugging slightly. Cupping a hand in the air, he stated, "But just for clarification: no to the first, and to the second, I think you guys had a thing for each other since she called you little while standing in the sandbox."

Steve snickered, rubbing the back of his neck.

"To be fair, I kinda deserved it."

Another elbow to his side, and the taller man said cheerfully, "Yeah, you did, Short Stack."

"Shut up," was the apt response, the pair of man continuing their journey in silence. Buck finally hailed a taxi, and they made it back to the hotel shortly after. Going their separate ways to their rooms, Steve blew out a sharp breath when he entered, shoes toed off and the door locked firmly behind him. Crossing the room and flopping down on the bed, he pulled his phone out of his pocket, waking up the screen and looking at the background photo.

It was of Holly, perched on the edge of his sofa back home with a book in hand. He'd caught her deeply absorbed in a book, and the light from the window had streamed in, casting an ethereal glow around her. He could not help himself at the time, snapping the photo with his phone before the magic was broken. At the last moment, she'd looked up, catching him and smiling.

At that moment, what drew him in was the look in her eyes, the depth of feeling brightening her irises and adding to the glow. It was the same depth of feeling that beat through his heart, as well.

Quickly, he unlocked the device, thumbing through to the phone function and dialing a number he knew by heart. It only took a couple of rings before the call connected, the warmth in the familiar voice wrapping around him as she answered.

"Hey, Holly," he said, unknowingly smiling up at the ceiling.

"Hey, you," she replied, sounding pleased despite the grogginess. "Thought you were heading to bed."

"I am, I just…I wanted to hear your voice," he confessed, not able and not willing to deny it. She chuckled at that, shifting sounds of her sliding down in bed echoing into his ear.

"Ah, yes, because who wouldn't want to be exposed to these dulcet tones?" she teased. He barely laughed, the lackluster nature of it giving her pause. Taking a breath, she asked him seriously, "What is it? Is something wrong?"

He shook his head at thin air before answering. "Just thinking. Thinking about how glad I am that our flight's tomorrow morning."

Holly snickered at that.

"Bet you're gonna find it boring out here, compared to Brooklyn," she responded, joking still in her tone. Still, after the events of the evening, Steve gave her a true answer.

"It's just another town, sweetheart. That's not what matters to me." His plain honesty was evident, and he soldiered on, determined to let her know the truth he had figured out. "It's who is there that matters."

It may have taken him nearly twenty years, but he had finally learned that it was not location that made a home. And he could not go another second without expressing that reality.

Holly took a few moments to answer, his heart thumping in his chest in the interim.

"That's true," she replied, the breathy air of her voice affecting him as well. The conversation moved onto lighter fare, such as what time he and Bucky would be at the airport, and what he intended to do with his day. Since they would be returning on a Saturday, he would have time to go home and recover from any form of jet lag, and she would see him on Sunday.

However, between packing and climbing into the cab, boarding, and going up into the air, he had altered his own plans.

Once the plane touched the tarmac of the Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport, he fetched up his bag, telling Bucky he would see him later. Calling a Lyft, he climbed into the back of the driver's car, Bucky's knowing smirk following him as they sped away. Within a half hour, he found himself on the front stoop of a block of apartments, pushing his way inside and heading up to the second floor. At the end of the hall, he paused in front of one door, knocking and waiting with coiled energy.

After a few seconds, the panels swung inward, revealing the apartment's occupant.

Holly grinned broadly at him, looking beautiful despite the sweatpants and stretched out sweater she wore. He grinned back, all too pleased to see her.

"I thought you were planning on heading home," she said in lieu of a greeting, holding up her phone for emphasis. Given that one of his most recent messages had proclaimed that, he did not blame her for thinking he would do so.

Canting his head, he murmured, "Yeah, about that...well..."

They shared a smirk at the implication, and Holly nonchalantly shrugged a shoulder.

"I suppose you can stay," she conceded, pretending blow out a put-upon gasp. "I mean, it wouldn't be fair to Bucky to make him come pick you up."

She winked at him, and he inclined his chin.

"Knew you'd understand," he breathed, coming in and setting his bag down on the ground. After she swung the door shut behind him, Holly looped her arms around his shoulders, drawing him in for a kiss. At once, he deepened it, the taste and smell of her overpowering in that moment. The rush in his veins, in his heart, enveloped him, the strange emptiness he felt out East gone within that moment.

"Welcome back," she whispered against his lips, and his grip around her hips tightened minutely as he surged forward and kissed her again.

It was a welcome home, and he knew it, even then. He had, over the years and hardships, found his home.

Within seven more months and after the purchase of a ring, he was able to express how he had found it in her.

And, when she said yes, she showed him how she had her home in him, too.

* * *

 **A/N:** Hi, everyone. It has been...far too long. My new job honestly overloaded me so much for the last few weeks that I could not stand the thought of looking at a computer in my spare time. I could not write. It seriously sucked, since writing gives me so much joy, but I was so exhausted and sick that I couldn't endure it. And I felt horrible, leaving you all hanging and wondering just what the hell is going on.

Now, though, things are calming down, and I feel that I can return to writing again.

As such, I have decided that this is the end of _Growing Pains_. Perhaps it seems abrupt, but it has taken far too long to get to this point, and I wanted to get you guys to an actual ending. Furthermore, I am not sure that, if I continued, the writing would be of any quality, and I would rather leave it here than continue and make you guys hate it.

I will be picking up _Heart and Service_ again, hopefully sometime this week. I also have another project on the back burner, so keep an eye out for that. Watch my Twitter, PhanProTweets for updates.

I own nothing from the MCU, nor do I own any pop culture references made in the text.

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all in the next story!


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